The Saving Tree by Ada Limón

This is the cooling part of the fever, when everything: the jumping girder of the Golden Gate's red limb, the tall metal tree house of the Empire State, the black rock cliffs off the Sonoma coast, the drawer's leftover pills, the careless cut, the careening car, the crosswalk, the stop/go, the give up, give up, done, all of it, slows to a real nice drive by. A view of some tree breathing and the mind's wheels ease up on the pavement's tug. That tree, that one willowy thing over there, can save a life, you know? It saves not by trying, a leaf like some note slipped under the locked blue door (bathtub full, despair's drunk), a small live letter that says only, Stay.

— Bright dead things by Ada Limón (Page 22)