I carved your name into a tree,
but then I kept walking.
The tree didn't follow me.
Only my shadow did, but in this forest
even that was lost.
Into a maple, red like love,
I carved the melody of your Saturday morning skin.
But that wasn't enough.
Into the birch,
I carved my memories of your lower back.
But the birch peeled
and the maple bled.
And when I came across a willow,
it was was too tough to be carved.
Too hard for the color of your eyes,
too hard for your midnight sighs.
And by then my knife was dull.
And my shadow was still gone.
And the hope that just maybe
I would come across my own name
carved into a tree...that was gone, too.
