leaping

leap from new cold life,

to land among new home trees,

and praise what's within.

bound and bound away

from the dead wood that wounds you;

that branch had passed on.

i've been getting high

on all the wrong oxygen,

my head hurts, i'm spent.

i thought that was you,

standing at the edge of fine,

within my green bounds,

come to prune the hurt,

come to burn the pile of pain

you found on the branch.

but you just stood there,

in your silhouette of hope,

not telling me things.

so when you jumped off,

hitting the harsh ground running,

my roots broke your fall.

this tree is not green,

the water drained from its soul,

frost-bit bark cracking.

things we nested here

have abandoned their warm nests

and flown to find you.

but that's not too bad,

i would hate to have to care

for them anymore.

leap from new cold life,

to land among new home trees,

and praise what's within.

there are many trees

standing in my broad orchard,

waiting to be climbed.

the leaping is it,

shoved from the shivering loss,

to find myself here,

renewed by the hit

upon the grounds of my roots,

heels sprung and bones bruised.

the turn comes once tripped,

once the spine straightens anew,

once the blood returns,

and i can recall

without looking bent backwards

how that old tree lived.

to reach behind me,

without the eyes of the sins,

without the red hues,

and see something there

of the possibility

of no probation,

no more lost feelings,

no more clung-to hopes of chance,

no more search for you.

the tree stands apart

but it won't go to mother,

standing as it should

as the place from which

great things grew from great things loved,

and leaping was right.