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Description
Chaotic things were what drove you to ache
your way through a year of deserts and high notes;
you didn't have to pick apart your skeleton
for bits of the old you that could be reused
and strung together like cranberries for sparrows.

She was a tree and you thought renewal could uproot her.

But even clay soil erodes and the shores will fall
in Mecca one day,
will fall and whet the arid climates-
what will you do when you cannot blame your lethargy
on the dust and the heat?

You will fall to your knees
and watch the lips and invasive hand/species
she let curl in her leaves,
and she gasps carbon dioxide in time with your oxygen.

You asked how it was.
Lonely.

Very lonely when time creaks the forest too slowly.