why trees
between your thumbs
you may've whistled on a blade of grass
and so you've heard the sound
as sad as your heart is hoarse
and still calling
when it wonders why or if
happy is what happens after this
when a finger
may stop the shiver in your lip
might sop your shredded face
and guide you up
nest you snug between the branches
arms you'd've wished for if you knew
the rest and most of home
where the leaves let you breathe
not gasping for happy
and sleep and dream
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