I sit underneath
a lonesome, wilting tree.
A tree unknown to the world--
But known to us.

We sat in an open field
back when the sun never slept and
the leaves had yet to show.
I would never have thought that the colors could change.
But soon leaves fell, and we branched away.

The tree stared me down in the distance as we ran.
Different, but magnificent all the same,
questioning why we would ever leave.
But we venture on further, lost in the jungle.

My eyes open and close and
I stumble back to the tree.
I never seem to find you here.
The tree, rooted to the earth,
remains dormant where it rests--
not to be awoken.

I wait for a winter and pray for spring--
they never arrive,
growing impatient as I fall.
Maybe one day I’ll find you here.
As for now I keep an axe by my side.
Too weak to lift, too strong to leave behind.