i want to stand like a tree
and reach my limbs out in every direction
i will let any breeze brave enough
shake these branches and flap these leaves
i will let every last drop of precipitation in
because whether you believe it or not i am thirsty
and whether you believe it or not i am searching
every root and every seed is probing
looking for heaven somewhere in this earth
because i know it cant be made of clouds
No, no, its more likely made of dirt
and I will stand still for the lovers cut
as they carve hearts and letters into my bark
because it is through the pain that i find love
indeed its beneath the cuts and under the bruises
where butterflies slowly devour me, inside
oh how i dream of pinning their wings, to a slide
and through careful meticulous interrogation
i will find the reason they fly, flutter, and burn up before
they migrate
to the poplar, to the maple
anywhere far from me
to any other home, any other tree
i suppose they too are searching
circling the globe
these hitchhiker bugs
creep into the skin, hearts, and stomachs
of many
but oh, how i wish
oh, how i dream
that they would
stay
stationary...