Cell adon

If letters are twigs

I will grow you a tree

It will be

    Thin as a wrist

And whip in circles

Leaves clawing for the

Wind as it passes

It will twist and cut the air
and grow fat off the strife


           of the sun.

Remember when you said

green is the color of


alive


it bleeds into the atmosphere

and makes breath taste like

     chewed stems
watch now, she

spreads her fingers toward the sky
the sun kisses her


But she cannot kiss back.