Standing alongside a forgotten city,
trees travel through seasons.

I talk to a tree; with tears I wash its leaves,
and I feel its moving roots— extensions of grief.

The tree and I extend our shades
and entertain those who come near.

We absorb the sun’s rays, gather soil,
share the night’s loneliness, and collect stories.

We are home to travelers, occasional lovers.
We collect secrets and offer understanding.

In my absence, don’t apologize on my behalf.
The sun won’t rise late, and I won’t be missed.

The world will continue to run,
and the sea will forget my long hours at its shore.

I leave behind my silence for you to share.
My farm, the site of my grave, will be yours.

Water trees, invite back the long nights,
and ride the horses in the open air.