Now. If it’s
all the same
and it quite
present and future
are one. And all our
words will outlive us.
Of this I’m sure. Grab a tissue!
Because this blank piece of paper
purports that he is the tree I climbed, and held,
even carried on quite the conversation with. Yes,
siree! There’s just no getting around it. It’s all the same.
Prompted by Poetic Asides