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Tree Poem


because they marked you

to cut down later


i don't know how to be with you

my boundaries, rootless, flow

so i take pain personally, but i look the other way


when i walk by, nearly every day. sorry.

when they decided to remove you

they should have


instead, they marked you with blue spray paint X

aka, unsuitable for the cemetery

but useful, for every mourner to see

but not a priority, something to take care of later


i wish they would let you fall

apart like in the forest

when trees die becoming

home 2 fox and rabbit


today i reach my arms around you

and listen just

listen

to your not-breathing

is that how death happens?

was i too late?


bark crumbles from your arms

back to dirt, back completely

when the snow melts

and the rains come

then the sun


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