i_talk_to_trees

after i die,

i like to think

that someone will plant

a tree over my body.

couples will carve their

"everlasting" love

here i am,

foolishly trying to describe

the feeling of sitting up

high in an oak

and writing poetry.

here i am,

watching the sunset

above long green grass

and typing into an ugly

love, you say, 

is as tenderly golden as 

buttercups in may, 

as apollo's flaxen hair. 

and you wish for a lover.

fated together

as achilles was with

on any other day,

i would say my favorite song

is (nope)

it reminds me of

who i am, or rather,

i guess, who i hide behind.

today is different.

today i finished 

i miss summer camp.

i miss the pines

and the deer that hid

among them.

i miss the sunsets,

which were somehow

ever so much more beautiful

than any of the ones back home.

there is a language, 

of clear skies and fluffy 

sheep-like clouds 

of tree-whispers 

and shooting stars. 

spoken  

in smile-lined faces