there’s something sad about it

walking down the road Alone at night
I see heaps of broken furniture
dark, aromatic
beautiful bones of a long-dead creature
worn smooth from the short span where they got to be part of a life
but holding the long
aching memory of the Tree

without understanding why
I carefully pick through
fill my pockets with the loveliest pieces
continue on my way
letting them weigh me down
tether me to the Earth 

for now

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