If I can have every sun-touched pine
in the tear-dropped forest,
you can have every golden sunflower,
ecstatic with life.
If I can have the unsought, yet verbose letters
of those lost in the waves,
you can have the selcouth trails,
paved and flooded with wayfarers.
If I can have the rich, oaky scent
of smoke permeating the room,
you can have the earthy essence
of algae in the Great Lakes.
If I can have the sound of the flames
crackling with an ambiguous shriek,
you can have the blissful harmony of streams,
dancing over the rocky river bottom.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.