I am you are tree

If all is coincidence

Then I may be leaf

You didn't leave
      the way
          you thought you did.


             I realize.


Thus

     I move through,


                    instead of on.

There is a warm strangeness
                   that I hope will fade
     once I walk out under the sun.


The coffee is cold, but finished.
                        My mind feels bigger,
                                                 though emptier.


                              Acceptance comes before peace.
                 I am of the river,
and in it.

Sometimes,
I am the weather.


                         I might begin twisting,
                          and touch ground,
                              and leave only a line
                of disruption, sometimes
destruction.


                        I might throw off light-
                                      waves of genuine intensity,
                a Sun's love,
                                         a heat that sends some
                           to cover.


       I might loom large and dark,
til splitting open, to rain.
                                                And wait to think
                                                   on what fruits
                                                  that might bear.



I am
    sometimes the weather,

             not lonely,


                      only wondering,



               what other fronts

                      might be embraced.

you're knots,
you're feathers,
you're tall-stones and rings

no longer the cleverly low

the ****,
the burn,
and memorly things,

the mooniest shadow of snow


you raced,
you lost,
you learned the cost

your being, a needley find

as a shed
for rust,
love-oxides trust,

and your Evers is oxygen pined