Epiphyte

 

On my dark, but high branch
I
barely feel your weight
your beauty drawn to my sun
growing long green tendrils
so tender, to feel where I am dead.

Our bond is in the unspoken air
your bloom seeming to spring from the ether
as I decay in ecstasy, finding nothing I remember
in the sense of me now.

A dark old tree like me is all I am
angry at the sun, for needing it so
sap oozing without understanding.
In love, I’m come to understand that your moss
is my weakness, killing myself a little bit each day
to make space for you.

I’m not sure how I shook you
the air still, your hold so tight
and your nature
would not have let go
for me, I know this.

But I feel the ground in my branches again
and hear the friendly seasons
and know our mother as my own again
again and again, I can begin
to grow, even with its pains,
as it always was, before you.

 

 

 

 

 

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