The dirt beneath the edges
was scraped out and scattered.
Your roots were reaching through to the other side.

Growing longer with laughter
we bred trees of humanity
and plums of perfect stories
were whispered in the night.

You sang of loud cities.
Erosion. Circumstance.
I shook beneath the sheets
and you held me till morning.

Now we get hollow.
It’s autumn and I miss the sun.
This fruit has soured the air
but please don’t go yet, I still need you.

The wind is blowing through us.
Creaking. Snapping.
Cold shivers.
I think we’re both gone now.
I think I still miss you.