You're a dove
and your cooing woos.
I have this hollow
place in my chest
right where a past
lightning strike hit.
I am deeply rooted
in fantasy. So,
you're welcome to nest.

Rains have washed away
most my charred innards.
Yet, I still stand tall
and my branches still
hold verdant veiny leaves.
At least,
Spring through Summer.  

I know it's not
your usual field camouflage.
And owls on
the housing market
do drop in.

Forgive me for asking.
I know it's not usual,
but maybe you could
coo a bit closer
to my branches?
At least until
an owl comes
apartment hunting.
Peace, my friend.