Tree

How the seasons

are eclipsed

and memories

linger.

The sadness

that I feel

when I think

of how

it might have been

had I only

been braver

had I only known 

my own strength

instead of pretending 

to be strong.

The love I stored up

drove me mad.

When I think of that madness

and how you

might have been subject to it

in all the best ways

it doesn’t seem fair.

I grew away from myself

such that

the seed

from which I sprung

got lost.

The curves—

the gnarled curves—

of my trajectory

led to such 

rotten fruit

that no one wanted to eat.

Now, 

it is on the ground

and 

not much is left.

I’ll return to dust

without 

having had your lips

taste the better part of me

and you

have forgotten

what once was sweet

and could have been tasted

if only 

I had grown straight

and true.