I'll walk your
rickety tree house bridge to the moon.
The frayed jute rails are comforting in the roughness
against the give and sway,
gives some form to fear.
But I can never get Florida to work
and as long as you have some snacks up there
I can be brave. The old oaks here have seen
so much. Do they see it all in time lapse?
Is 150 years a flash? Such storms, their
brothers cut down for lots.
All rights reserved.
I saw Red Fez is having a submissions drive. Get thee...go. It reminded me they'd been so kind to publish this childlike poem - wow, a couple of years ago now.