and I can just barely see into that top window
through the rustling leaves chilled in the mid-April indecisiveness
we stretch and we stretch
imitating those trees so deeply rooted in what they know
but your fingers don’t reach that far
and you’re starting to struggle, it shows in the corners of your eyes
you would write the prettiest poems
lyrics that were framed with your heart strings
like a marionette for the world to watch dance
you are so fragile, you are stilted
no one can reach you
the soil is damp underfoot
remnants of what you used to
know so well.


If you get there before me,
will you light us a fire?
but if I never show,
will you watch the embers glow?
would you keep the fire burning?

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