The things I'll give to you when you die
The walls of blankets I hung in my room
where I hid and hid
and named the colors
filtered by the hours.
The light through thin-veined leaves
that only veils
alone children.
The fear of wasps in the playhouse
you built tall
like the real trees.
And I ended up preferring them after it was painted.
I'll give you that tree house
the way it looked when I could just see it from inside the woods
maybe it's less painted now
Maybe the trees are
much much taller.
April 15, 2010
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