We came from redemption, trees and voices

Daddy’s car at night bringing us home

salty sweat and tears in palms

all childhood’s autumns asparkle

radiant, iridescent, crimson leaves

riding on each other’s shoulders in our mismatched clothes.

We dreamed about the stars, falling into the sun feet first,

old houses, and tornadoes;

in daytime, broken bikes and tattered sheets,

and when we were sick, sweet red medicine.

One day the mechanical ball

stopped singing

rolled straight down the heating vent

where hands never reach

undisturbed.

Three trees deep your family lies

see what you thought you buried behind you—

here are the roots that held you up

here are the leaves above your head

changing once again

and here are the veins that once fed them light.

They’re bound for their waters, sloping downhill

they’re a different shape now

changed from the tree you used to know.

Here is the tree’s seed, deep in the crater

breaking once again.

Strange and pulsating life

appears before my tree-ghost eyes

it whispers in the vines of silence.