Juniper

My willow is breathing a soft hush. Loam clings to its verdure, wronged time again. Yet it breathes, lingering in my forsaken sight. Severed is the bond between thy tree, miles of stamen between us. I will strive to erase its twisted roots and dashing embrace. But belonging sticks to me like glue, and the hearth offers none. Subsequently is a blushing lavender. Camphor fills my ruined lungs, warm velvet’s embrace. Then I choke. I wail an outcry, pacing to thy anguished tree. My willow is breathing a ragged gasp. “Don’t leave me,” it whispers. I can’t. I won’t. For the lavender doesn’t bear my hearth. And rapport blooms from my kin’s quiet leaves.