You carved our initials
into these family trees.
But when the branches are bare and broken,
love is so hard to reach.
We've learned to brace for the worst
and to read the last pages first,
surrender feels safe.
Maybe the soul is the soil that holds the fallen seed,
or the light pouring down in between the rain clouds,
daring life to reach;
or maybe it's the rings in the trunk of the tree,
a birthmark time will leave
to measure the past.
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