I quickly climbed the tree behind the house,
put my bare feet against the bark of branches
in the river oak. The setting Sun
reflected off the clouds. I saw my love
in the quick change of seasons, thunderstorms
illuminated the August horizon.
I move through a wet paint that is the world
growing like tender plants, extending leaves
toward the light. In the still tree, I dreamt
about her letters from the mountains, how
she ran to throw her self on me the time
I had been away. The world from in
the canopy of river oak revolved
illusorily. I meditated.
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