You Were Simply a Child
casting off the hurt of ancients,
these breeze shaken trees realize.
Like a premonition, they change that pain
as memory still through the roots
Trees, the huddled, the outspread,
are shapes to make a space in, be that room
for the breathing after the world turned
to iron & truth kept closing.
You tried. I tried
re –opening the other
at completely different times
& the timing remained a problem.
Yes, memory serves: your walls
& my distance while forgiveness keeps
blowing up the derelict trees
I take my lessons from.