Tree House Lost     Newest Version

                I.          
           
With small and trembling hands,          
we climb to our temple in the trees,          
upheld by roots unseen.          
           
We play under an amber sun        
as it paints shadows on the leaves.          
           
The sundown bell calls out,          
in mother tongue, "come home."          
With shoulders squared,          
we clench our eyes and choose.    
           
The bravest thing I've  ever done          
was just a kiss.          
           
                  II.          
           
Paradise tree 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.