Apr 2, 2010

the stick figure

Climb down the tree
Broken limbs,
I can't hold you up
you hug tighter still
leaves fall down
If it's autumn
I lie dead.

You tie a rope
to build her swing
trample the crunching leaves
as you push, she calls faster

Til I grow tired and nothing more
than a figure seen in the moss.
I'm old roots and twigs
a recycled kiss.

Invisible now,
beneath your feet,
a pile of sticks among stones
never enough to break
or heal those bones.

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