Bruised and beautiful tall tree
with heavy-hanging, over-ripened
fruit that weighs your branches.
Should I be a picker?
Lighten the load.
Will I be(e) a keeper?
Produce sticky liquid from the pollen
of your prickly flower.

Have I been the wind that makes them sway
that makes you say, "Quiet.
I'm hurting.
Be gentle,
I'm yearning
for so much more than you give me."

I want to bring rain.
Wet your roots and make it spring again.
They extend deep
and so far beyond me.
I'd hit the dirt, sink
and you'd drink me.
Fill you up,
something sweet.


Then I'm also the dry lake bed,
and you are the sun.
Then we're both the 96 million mile
uninterrupted beam of energy
that makes us one.

You, the powerful, scorching fire
through the vacuum of space.
The world feels your hot touch in mid day.
And my arid cracked surface
of evasive avoidance
reflects your energy
back at you,
trapped in the atmos-

Spherical star,
you've brightened my life.
One day I'll be stronger
learn to soften the strife.

My magical lover,
ever burning goddess.
Should I be kept as your lover,
the ever failing novice,
I imagine us
melting into each other in August.
The tail end of summer,
stronger humble and honest
and in love as ever.