I walk on the four-est floor
With three scrapes on my knees
Two hands clasped together
As we climb one tree

One sky almost as blue as her eyes
Two clouds that look like sighs
Three times I trace a scar on her thigh
The four-est floor below me

a rocky place to call home
metaphorically speaking
by the side of a road
among the detritus of motorists
thrown from car windows
as was he, just a core
from an apple in an unfinished
lunch box eaten on the way home
that somehow germinated
I call him, him because
it makes me comfortable
to give gender and character
build up some sort of empathy
in the winter a sad skeleton
silhouette against a slate sky
bur every spring blossoming
to produce apples for the birds
where no human would dare
wander unless broken down
I admire the consistency
of nature and the hope it brings

I felt a wave of love from the trees,
Green in their growth and sweet in their fruit.
I simply asked, "Would you help me wipe away this soot?
The soot that clings to my heart and darkens all that should feel lovely."

They said, "Come near and take a seat.
Can you feel our roots growing beneath?
Will you intertwine your breath with mine?
And when you weep, will you touch the soil and feel our heartbeat?"

To the giants of the land, I replied,
"I can feel your love, know your knowledge, and see your vision.
You are the serenity that bridges earth and sky,
While I am but a morsel of your magic that will surely pass before you die.

The power you possess in your filtering form
Creates life for those who here are born.
But I ask, who will you be when you return
to the sacred place we all deeply yearn?"

tree in bloom with white
flowers construct of a mind
forever young

Words are frauds
You, me, they, them all we
Lost under the same tree.

Every time someone leaves me
it feels like they’ve taken a dagger straight to my heart
It isn’t a fast motion but slow and painful
The suffering prolonged.
It isn’t made out of metal, but wood
When it’s pulled out of my body  
Each time, they leave behind pieces of themselves,
splinters
I wonder how many I’ve collected?
Im sure by now I can create a dagger if my own.

I found a seed, and I planted it.
Watered it daily
Checked the soil in which it sat
Nothing happened so
I changed the potting,  
Giving it sun,
Made sure it saw the light
Checked it everyday
Did everything right,
Waiting for it to sprout something
Anything even.

But it didn't grow,
because the seed died

With wide arms I listen
With hands full of green ears
Polyphonic whispers of fluff
Fine traces of sound
on the bench

A woman and her daughter
look around, the girl stares
and says with wobbling legs

I'll be a mum just like you
with a daddy and a child
who thinks this is the most beautiful place
of all, the whole world, the universe

*

The girl plays with a ball
pulls a flake of my bark
asks: is your name scratched in it?
What is he old, isn't he, triple thick I think
and those lumps, would he be sick?

Her mother laughs and takes the picture
she wished to have had of herself:
the girl, and I incognito

not as wise, not as full
high and wide
of past as I am now
and smaller than what I know

of all the people
who caressed me
of all the wishes
they shared with me

today
a strange milky light
rolling over the hills
like a blinding blanket
I caressed naked branches
their fragility a statement
plum trees apple trees
peach trees cherry trees
and I a witness
to the dignity with which
they carry their wounds
I love trees because
their shadow is not full
of bitterness.
perhaps
they know how to cry
for the absence of wonder

you see
much is going on
beyond words:
all of me and
this tree
feel
there is a depth
in everything