Bonsai

The birds are making conversation.
I'm not. I'm beneath them, growing
Smaller in the morning sun. I got
To see her yesterday to tend our
Tiny, hidden love, a bonsai love,
I'd have to say, a pretty thing, which
Represents, but isn't, what it ought
To be. I came. She smiled, and
Clung to me with words, as if she
Hoped I'd stay, but we both knew
I had to go, or else the bonsai
Would be seen. Two days will pass
Before I reach her. As they do, I'll
Shrink until I'm but a dot beside
Our tree, beneath the ones it represents.
In them, the birds will mimic how
It is when we can speak.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 45 times
Written on 2015-06-29 at 10:43

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