tell me what it means to be buried
underneath the willow tree in my
father's driveway. how the dry roots
twist around my arms like a lover would.
how the hanging limbs feel like
a warm parent's embrace. tell me what
it means to crawl back into the earth
and feel more at home there
then in the comfort
of your own bedroom.
tell me about the flowers. the frogs.
the coyotes i hear yowling at the tree line.
about the stars i look up to, and can't help but to admire their dead bodies. their pale faces,
pale ruins.
tell me what it means to
be jealous of something
that is more
alive,
but less flesh,
then you are.
