day 29: won't pull

You must have fallen from some high twig,
a helicopter seed that cozied up to the soil.

You are a tree. / You are a beech tree.
You shade my window from extraneous sun.
Was that you dancing in the wind? / Was that you filtering out the summer moonlight?
Speaking of the moonlight,

the soft, tasty beams on our backs
remind me that I am looking out into the dark.
I look up / I point out a shooting star,
but as close to the ceiling as you are,
by the time you follow my finger,
it has landed and set fire to a field / far away.
I hear the cheatgrass wailing in the distance
as you turn to see my face,
the arches soaking up the pale paint / I imagine you do, at least

Was that you rustling with your dried leaves? / Was that you?

You are a tree. I am a fruit.
I am a piece of fruit that regrows its skin every time someone slices at me.
I had someone turn me over in their hands yesterday
and read the lines--

in my past, I had a destiny.
Somewhere along there, I made a decision--
one decision--
and changed course.
The diamonds mean learning opportunities.
Some of the lines don't cross,
and something in there, she said,
means that I am loved by many people,
more than I think.
Don't go giving me radical ideas, I said,
before rolling off the counter and into the grass.

Does it hurt to walk so nimbly with root-feet?
Are you tired, yet?

Can you pick me up?
We'll decide on a time / later.

-Dana Winter