I wanted to look to you like I was dancing
But the bugs on my bark weren't moving enough
I kept reaching skyward and praying for wind
     Never comes to a call, does it?
You could trace each fissure on my surface--why don'chya?--
     Find stories and runnels for flowing sap
Saw me off at the hip, maybe. See what jokes my rings have to tell

I'm tired of waiting for wind; I want to dance (I think?)

I wanted to look to you like I was thoughtful
So I sliced off a sheet of cyan and I robbed the sky
You called me "thief." ******' mean
     Always reaching for silver, aren't we?
Try to touch irises, press pupils. I've never been further than now
     Stories all end, so I'm told. But this one? Still going
Hacked apart, trying to show you my pieces. Chunks. Rough mince

So I stole again to pay the sky back. Ex nihilo, nihil fit
I can pour from empty, because I'm magic, baby!

I wanted to want to see you in Springtime
But we can't scrape Winter off our faces
     Sling me a flat stone that I can send spinning
Slapping across the water's surface
Did I hit the opposite bank? You could stitch together separate days
     if you only had the sinew and a proper needle
Blown apart by wind and explosive expecting. Chunks. Rough mince

I'm tired of waiting for wind. I'm tired of wanting to dance (I think?)
Not magic--well--not the kind that isn't bone and blood and skin
That's the sort of magic that doesn't exist.

Everlasting light,
Shining on the green Titans
As their browns falls to earth.

From here, four thousand feet down
The Rocky Mountain Range
As winter subsides and spring begins
Purples and whites among the forest, up there, from here
My shaded porch by a hundred years old ash
I see where I once was, high above.

From here, as the tick, toc, tick, toc
Snuck through the air of time
As the children lost their wonder
The fancy climbing, the hold on tight
Of a tree swing dangled, beckoned
Them. They lost their spark
From here at this distance I see it all stuffed in the dirt of time.

The peach tree next door grew over your fence.
Can you believe it?
It’s big enough now for you to pluck a peach,
No ladder needed.

I think you'd care,
Because this peach tree used to be a sapling—
Barely a foot tall when we first planted it.
We had to be more patient than we'd like to admit,
But now its branches are strong enough
To weather the seasons, carrying all that’s tough,
Cradling birds and catching the songs they sing.

It reminds me of us.
It reminds me of you.
You wanted a peach from that tree,
But it took many years to grow—
Just like we did, with naivety, even so.

You have crow’s feet now.
Time has come, and you have grey hairs somehow.
Small lines drawn gently on your face,
But every wrinkle tells your story—
It’s plainly self-explanatory.
Each one a slow, beautiful mark of time that I’d never erase.

And when I look at you,
I don’t see flaws.
I look at you, and with a soft sigh,
I say:

She was a star back then—
But now she’s the whole **** sky.

I am an apple tree that stands alone in the wild.
Developed with no interference from the outside world.
Ready to be picked and shared with others.
Away from the other orange trees that sway and murmur between themselves.
They only spread out their branches to fellow orange trees.
I have chosen not to be one of them.
They would only disrupt my path to growth and development.
Similar but not the same.
I am a complex entity
Composed of routes and stems
I require varied soil to flourish.
Ready to be fearless.
Ready to rely on only myself.
Ready to be accepted by myself.
I do not depend on others to feel complete.
Does an apple tree in the wild need others to develop itself?
No, it does not.
It needs only its soul,
the wind, and the rain to prosper and flourish.

Woke within a dream,
amidst dense forest.

a tree stood,
older than time,
casting its shadow.

a touch of it,
showed all it had lived—
bloodied sword clash,
clouds that wept for years,
flora it wore,
wildflowers it shielded,
the warmth it once kissed.

yet it stood still.
as I faded,
back into the dream.

The wagon rode, laden with dreams,
Of clear happiness and fairy love.
His path was hilly, full of trees.
But he rode brightly inspite of.

The wagon rode and galloped slowly
Without any troubles and fears.
The sun shined to him tenderly
And forest gave him pure cheers.

The wagon rode and breathed a peace.
He went so breezily and calm.
It seemed that nobody again,
Never and never do him harm.

The wagon rode on tiny rocks.
And now he have to started home.
His home is sunless and no cheers.
His home is gloomy catacomb.