the trees i love from the ground

the trees call me,

winds rustling through the leaves in a way that sounds inviting,

a long, gentle melody.

they call for my sister.

she is more their type,

for she

with her monkey feet and broad horizons

can scale up into them,

as high as they grow,

flinging herself to places

i cannot see.

they want me anyway,

despite my lowness.

i collect burnt leaves like treasure pieces,

wrap my arms around trunks

in the hopes that i might,

someday,

fit there.

i love anyway.

a twig in the space of a small universe,

parading around my affection

with a reusable water bottle.

sometimes,

the wind whispers sound almost like affection.