As I watch
your soft limbs bow before me
giving me permission to climb your sturdy trunk
up to your leaves.

I peek through the branches,
the world broken up into crisscrossed windows
each one a glimpse into someone's world.

I'm reminded of my younger days,
climbing higher and higher
until the sky brushed my fingers
in a soft command.

I would be a sky pirate, searching
for something or somewhere or someone
until momma came outside with lemonade and PB&J
and all my problems were solved
with a single kiss to my forehead.

Now, though, I simply watch from above
content in spending a few moments alone,
just me and you and the sky.

Wind picks up, your delicate branches waving in the breeze
letting swaths of gold float to the ground
in curtains that coat the cracks in the pavement
and hide the imperfections with golden rain.

And in that moment, there is nowhere else I'd rather be.

It was last year
the day they embrace
their love,
all of them,
it was then
I declared my own.
Seeds were sown,
In the sun then
her face shone,
it was me alone
who could see,
the seeds growing
into our sweet union's tree.
But as fate would have it,
it's their union's fruits
that the tree bore,
and it was almost as if
an encounter with death
deep inside my core,
there was rebirth then,
a man with the whole earth
to his name as if,
it is indeed land galore,
to sow seeds
until one day a tree grows
just like it's seeds it's pure,
bearing fruits
it should've always bore.

The vibration of the bus and the sun shining on my arm felt good
I couldn’t help but feel a dislike for myself despite it.  
As I looked out the ***** bus window I saw  the Sun kissed water and the deep green trees so far away.
It was beautiful
in this moment untouched.
I wanted to feel it.

Brought back by the ripples trailing a speedboat.
The water cut with the deep blades of human interference.
The ripples spreading magnificently
one after one after one
unwavering
Its shine distracting from the impact on the deep calm waters.

I felt the pain of the water.
I felt the dislike of myself for the impact I have.
I felt guilty for wanting to touch the untouched.
Who am I to touch?

Everyone needs their piece.
The piers, the boats, the yards, the perfectly developed plots in which to raise their families and plant their non-native gardens.

Violently pull their roots , so we can plant ours.

Unwilling to change ourselves
to see ourselves
to reflect on our touch
On our impact

The giving tree can only give so much, and it will never be enough.

I wrote this on my iPhone
drinking out of a plastic bottle
riding on a bus.

The white flowers
will not arrive
by stallion, nor
by lightning.

The stolid courier
will knock, a door
swinging; a suitable
place prepared.

In the cold district,
the exploded heads
of trees look back at me:
why didn't I save them?

Even the sun seems lopped.
But in the face of it
I will stand, have coffee,
& be reminded of you.

It's 6:30, and the sky
turns a spoiled milk shade
before tripping
in its hurry to arrive.

Crackling underfoot
from the leaves around her roots
a furnace for Moms

the landscape
drew cumulus green;
the full moon shattered,
falling in the dark night,
its pale glow
fringed the head of trees,
fireflies
in the muted sky.
my backyard was outlined
by the frayed edges
of the moon, its ghost like images.
I swept the rooms;
in the woods nearby
moss steadily crept
and consumed my backyard.

i didn't realize you didn't care.
i tried so hard
to be there for you,
but you blew me off
like birthday candles.
my favorite smell;
next to pine trees,
on a cold december morning,
where i find myself missing you,
again.
it just turns out,
that all the pretty words you said to me
were lies
and thats alright
because
ill just find myself lying in someone else's bed tonight.

I could live off the evergreen on a weak bet
or a whisper in a library that wasn't for me
I'll take off in the dead of night if it needed to be
without shoes or a backpack if it was necessary

the euphoria of the soil beneath my feet
and the sun feeding me all that I need
a place where the fog will never clear
but is never the symbol of gloom

the trees speak to me in code during the day
and let me know if they do make a sound when they fall
if I stay still long enough I too will be the woodlands
and the woodlands will be me

let the mushrooms grow off my back
and the spiders web between my fingers
petrichor the only fragrance I know
as I spit blossoms on the ground

I'll sit in silence and think of it all
for one thing is certain though:
the biophilia will eat you alive
but the exception is just so