If I were a tree, I should like to be an oak,
with mighty arms to embrace you,
and broad limbs to cloak you in shade.
I should like to sink my roots deep and firm,
so I could anchor myself here
where you know to find me.
and if I should feel the axeman’s bite,
I hope they mulch me into paper:
so I may return to you
as the pages of your favorite book
as a poem tucked into your pocket,
close against the beat of your heart.