A tree grows alone
and dangles its branches
over a pond.
This scene exists
in every earthly corner
but all this lonesome
bark cannot collect
somewhere
into a forest of its own.
It wouldn’t want to
if it could. The sunlight
and the simple shore
give up everything
they have to it
for free.
It’s also where
she likes to read
after walking over
with her stack of books,
she alternates between.
When the light recedes
she doesn’t leave
but lingers there
for hours more,
skin of her back
against the tree,
listening to crickets
in the dark.
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