A girl sits beneath a willow tree
alone, pondering the branches,
embracing the cracks of the bark
while the scenery around her
flutters away in the bitter wind.
The secluded still point she had
built for her own protection
peaks at the last drop of breath
and roles off of her bottom lip,
but does not completely vanish.
Her thoughts of then and now
pile up onto an abundance of polluted
picture books, stacked beneath
the leaves of the tree. However,
they too flutter away with the wind,
lost in the sea of empty desires
and leave her to ponder the tree;
Only the old willow tree remains.
Her eyes trace the the divide
between the willow and the nothingness,
and she could feel the weight of nothing
pressing down on the branches.
The abundance of absence tugging
each limb closer and closer to her feet
and yet closer to the edge of nothingness.
The willow is now her pondering home,
the place where her free-most self
is trapped under the convexity
of her dearly beloved willow tree.
She sits and sits and wonders the beyond
of nothingness, but feels no inclination
to leave her familiarity, her home.
The bark forms her armor, the grain
becomes her fortress, and the trunk
is her best friend, whom keeps her warm.
She sits and sits, and will continue to sit,
forever more, forever less.