Arbor

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.

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