i miss the trees

I’m in a house, 

the one I’ll inhabit for a year. 


I have a bed to build,

and a desk to procure. 


Such is moving, 

exhilarating and exhausting. 


I’d like to return,

to normal.


But adventure is here,

and it doesn’t feel familiar. 


Because it’s not bad,

just not my friend. 


Can’t wait to write,

to paint. 


I like the peace,

but hate the pieces. 


My life in boxes,

sick of this story. 


Won’t someone hold me,

while I pull together,


The tatters of my self,

and try a hand at joy. 


Can’t I find a meadow,

I miss the trees. 


My life is good,

full of love. 


The grief came with me,

couldn’t leave it. 


So this house is good,

but I miss the trees. 

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