This holographic poem 
Was written by the personated tree
That reminds me of you 
 
For although I may lack the valour 
To emancipate your battered heart
I'm hoping this far-flung poem
Not to be mistaken for amatory 

But rather a gift 
From the stairs 
That take comfort in the echo
Of your whispered secrets

This inessential concoction 
Of words has been formed 
By the stand-still bench 
Trapped in the memory of you 

This incongruous composition 
Of cluttered abstractions 
Was conjured up by the 
Missing skin on your wrists