The Winter conjunction of two lovers’ hands,
The quiet movement of priority,
And a folding of importance,
Dreaming of losing but finding instead, unity.
In an unknowingly familiar structure,
She holds it.
What it is I cannot imagine.
A formless and struggling thing.
The something I thought would come
When I called for it with the others.
She absorbs this creature,
And crinkles her nose
In the cutest fashion
As the metamorphosis travels
The length of her toes.
Light, too bright and hungry to know
Unmitigated in its ascent.
Until only a tree remains
Where girl once stood laughing.
Despite its stretching roots
And celestially aimed limbs,
I somehow know that I am to lift it
With careful hands.
Dutifully, I caress its sloping sides.
Its weightlessness raises the corners of my mouth
Into a smile.
The tree hums
Its deep consent,
And I plant it firmly
In my heart