Treehouse Lost

              I.  
 
With small and trembling hands,  
we climbed skyward  
to our temple in the trees,  
upheld by roots unseen.  
 
We played while an amber sun
painted shadows on the leaves.  
 
The sundown bell called out,  
in mother tongue, "come home."  
With shoulders squared,  
we clenched our eyes and chose.  
 
The bravest thing I'd ever done  
was just a kiss.  
 
                 II.  
 
The paradise tree's at trail's end.  
As it grew its heartwood formed.  
This harder, darker core  
its source of strength.  
 
On two nightstands sit two clocks,  
a continent apart.  
 
Eyes open in the dark,  
we cup our ears to listen.  
But no bell rings forever.  
Time has seen to that.  
 
Outside, a rebel angel sings  
the Song of Solomon.