It's like dancing with
Timber,* she laughs.
I'm done trying.

Lower my branches, move
Away from the floor,
One root at the time.

Body built for lifting and
Fighting, not moving with
Any sorts of grace.

I'll shelter her nests, protect
Her from angry weather.
Stand solid as a green mountain,

Watching her dance;
Leaving acts of beauty to beings of
Beauty. Like flowers. Snow falling.

My woman.