The Apple Tree

259 :: Growing Together

I let my hands travel
over the layered trunk in winter
and stood breathless
under her blooms in spring.

Carried home a handful,
wrote in their company,
returned in the rain.

I cried hot and bedraggled
tears falling to join a carpet of petals,
the blush of pink at my feet.

Flowers lost forever.

Weeks later, she called me back
in an early morning mist.

Overwhelmed in my wet, green boots,
taken with her swelling,
witnessed only by the forest edge,
I asked a lonely question —

273 :: My Apple Tree

she answered in fruit.

310 :: In Her Hands

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