I could tell it was done,
The leaves dry and brittle.
The trunk was still brown, but faded,
wrinkled.

We used to sit and just
look up at the sky
The blues and whites
Shining through that cracks
in the canopy, of that tree.
I wonder when you knew
if wouldn't last
One year? Two?
I guess it doesn't matter if you knew,
I know you had your doubts

We would sit under that tree,
my bony shoulder somehow
the perfect pillow, and laugh,
and smile,
and grab the sky.

Does the tree miss us? Togethor, I mean.
I hope someone does.

I'm sitting here now,
looking at the nook you always hid in,
your curves matching the trunk's perfectly.
I'm looking up at our piece of the sky now,
I reach out to grab it, but it always alludes me,
Like so many so many silly wishes.