Y 4 ...

Look at the way we stand
shaking like leaves under
an Oak tree;
the grey sky, the gnarled wood
the carved words show
more love than is present here
if only you had the desire
to cut, to make permanent
your apathy, your indifference.

Roots in the ground go further,
go further than we ever will be.

Clouds in the sky part
just as fast as we do.

Tears in my eyes, rain on the ground,
rot in the hollow of the tree
your eyes, turning me

however far away

you are, there is always the shrill
whistle of wind piercing through me.

There is always the greener grass
on the other side, you graze there;
don't go to her.

Don't just stand here, shaking your head
there's no more room for death.

When it's Spring.

Let's change the clocks,
take back the hours spent in disarray
and spend them in the shade

of an Oak tree.

No room for shoulders,
cold smiles, leaves
No room for insurgence.

Love, take out your knife
and scratch on our righteousness;
cut like your life
depends on it.