poetry

Evergreen (10/27/23)

Over the hill

The cracked and withered trunks wrap around one another 

For warmth I assume,

Are they cold?

Do they love each other?

Like I love you?

Do they whisper,

So silent,

As the wind passes through? 

Hands gravitate towards hands

It’s instinctual,

I think,

So,

When branches hold branches, 

Find me there,

And let me know,

May our arms intertwine,

Roots tangled with mine

Your love is my evergreen.