I wish our years were wooden
That I could set each morning coffee ring
Within tomorrow’s
Until I could wrap my arms around the trunk
Of a great, breathing red oak tree
I would let our laughter live as leaves
Our hope hang down on molasses vines
Etch our fears into hollow roots
Days become memories
Cradled concentrically
We could sprint through our growing lives
Forest sprites drunk on sunshine air
We should never know how old we were
Bark shading soft secrets,
These woods would remain
Long after we’d gone.