the arborist

 


this limb is diseased

not only shocked but removed

and begging on the ground,

littering rejections -

The bored breeze keeps bringing back.



It is praying for connection

with the source of pain

a sappy blood lust

for gaffs and spurs and choppy bark



“Just hold up this broken dream

and I can secure it with wire and rope.”

We grow into ourselves

and the rope and the wire

become part of the scar

we’ll only slide our tender hands and tongues over.



It will never heal

It will never feel

Carve our names instead.