July 5, 2005
2:18 AM
For a friend. Thank you.
I wonder,
do you know who you are right now?
There’s no way you could,
really.
Sitting atop the sycamore
you practically dared me to climb,
blithely mounting her limbs,
scaling her height,
making the crook of her arms
your resting place;
making it look easy.
I followed you,
shimmied up the branch
I couldn’t reach otherwise,
clambered from foothold to foothold
in shoes made for other
less daring ventures.
I’m twenty-nine years old;
you, six years my junior...
But here we sit,
atop my sycamore,
gazing out and down
at leaves we’ve only ever seen
from without...
I’m smiling in spite of my fear.
Spontaneity has turned me inside out;
I am not so mundane as I supposed,
and there is freedom in this
simple moment, where I do not question
your motives nor your thoughts.
I am content simply to be with you.
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