MLE

If I plant you

under my favorite tree, will you grow

to understand me, to miss me when

I leave? Ha, leave; you’d have such leaves

juicy, lush, grassy-green

beneath petals that make a face

too sweet, too twinkling to be serious.

I’m not sure what it means

to plant someone you miss

beneath a sycamore tree,

but if it were true—if I could grow

a botanical you—that’s what I’d do

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