when she was three she told me she wanted to be a tree.
tonight the two of us sleep.
in an envelope.
on a rock.
lightning forms between the negative and the positive.
at least I think that’s true.
she sleeps through this particular storm.
she’s a scientist now.
stressing seedlings back in her lab.
she knows fire is the curriculum.
everything heat.
all of it, bright.
tinder, spark, a need for air.
she will write a paper.
about what too much light can do.
to her kind.
of trees.
I feel the need to explain.
the heart to the hell.
the life to the pyre.
we live in some kind of fire place.
we will wake and walk.
in this plot line there is ash.
in the pit.
and growing green along the trail.
up next a riot.
of wild lupine.
My gosh I needed this poem.