2024
after the storms,
before the dust has even settled,
look to the trees.
each leaf has held on by its single stem.
boughs heavy with a thousand pages
glow even greener, as if in defiance,
as if they haven’t just been beaten upon.
remember the wisdom of healthy trees, how to bend enough
not to break.
after the flames,
the sky showers into new voids,
indifferent to my roof.
rainfall soaks through my charred everythings—
notebooks, collections, decades of relics:
evidence of the tumult I couldn’t outrun, of my own disasters,
of all that swept me under
remember the mere replica of a waterfall, now reduced to molecules
ash, and vapor.
an evergreen to my willow,
you stand at the bottom
of what-was-once my staircase,
and smile up at me.
covered in soot and debris,
sweat dripping from your brow,
you’re the first person I trust, truly
to be served by.
before the remains,
I kissed you there, once,
Four feet from that spot.
the board around us was still set in order,
nights arm against arm, head against shoulder, yet no guards between.
no batters to fight in ourselves, no instinct to retreat,
peace taken for granted.
remember the calm before our own aftermath
changed us.
I’ve never known my heart this way.
the closest was long before it was ever broken,
long before I wandered away from the tree of truth,
before I saw how the world treats itself,
before I knew what it was to lose life and lose hope.
I didn’t believe it was possible
to both eat that tree’s fruit,
and love belonging to this world.
until I knew I could let myself belong to you.
until honey mango dripped from my lips.
before the tree,
I was the storm
creating my heart’s own wars.
a vortex masquerading as a firework,
I consumed every emptiness around me, hoping to feel full.
now I seek only that love which sprouts from within my very core,
grows deep roots,
that stands tall against the winds, noble
for centuries.
between bricks and wildflowers,
it shares soil with rust and glass,
harbors alleyway misfits from wind and rain and sun,
dances with its every neighbor.
the environment mutates around,
a time-lapse of seasons and disasters,
and all the while it endures, steadfast and thriving,
in service and celebration of it all.
in my dream,
the life you grew without me,
before we reunite, ends.
someone who wants me for himself asks: how, can you still,
love him so much?
my eyes flood and my breath gets caught in my chest,
and I wake as my answer trips over itself:
don’t you see?
we loved the same trees.
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