a poem for the tree outside your apartment--

crack sidewalk--
shatter asphalt-- 
i want to highway-fracture
-- reject 
the limitations of my 
gravity like
the maple tree kicking
herself deeper
into the throbbing
street-light heart
of the city--
there are at least
10 red lights &
6 stop signs 
to get out of this city
& each one is another
invitation 
to stay-- live
entangled in the 
soft reverberations
of your skin on mine--
knot me in root & gravel--
i want to know
if the tree has any 
intention
of walking home--
i want to know 
if you have a pair
of scissors 
so i can cut a few
miles off this highway--
tie exits together
to take away some
of the miles between
me & you--
28-- there's exactly 28
miles from
me to you &
it's snowing right now
so it would probably
take longer
than usual
& that tree submerged
in the sidewalk 
is probably peering
in the windows in
the hopes someone
will let them inside--
offer them a cup
of early grey tea
to un-thaw their limbs--
where do you keep
your green in the winter?
i don't want
to be clouds even though
i'd like
to take more
time to look
at them as they
tear out their
own hair with
admiration
for the wind--
do you ever feel
cloud-like?
i want to sleep
in with you till
the sun gives up
on us & invites
the maple
tree to kneel--
to take a break from
standing so
tall for so long--
you dig up
the quiet in me--
the patience 
for merging onto
another highway--
praying to a 
headlight--
i'll text you when
i get home-- i'll
let you know 
i'm thinking of
you in my own
bed-- arms across
my chest 
sarcophagus-sleep
with me--
chalk write my body
on the walls--
my poems rub
off to make room
for more--
none of the 
ones i write
for you are finished
yet-- 
i'm here
questioning
the rebellious
tree outside
your apartment
if i could
have asked for
one more kiss 
before you 
walked back
up the street--
even your shadow
is too damn beautiful--
i regard the
radio tower lights 
in the distance
as red 
red
angles--