kick the can

it wasn’t it itself
that came back first

it was getting up early
the next morning
to climb back up
to where I’d hidden
on the count of ten
the night before

to belly down again
on the same fat flat branch
where I first had found
what I hoped still would be

when the tree
had suddenly begun to breathe
the crickets sky ground and me
all rising and falling together
upon her every breath

the sound of running below
getting further away
and last calls to come home
fading with the light

but there again
that next morning
long as I waited
hard as I tried
I could not will it back

and so it’s been

that a long time ago
a tree held me in her arms
and holds me still
in the understanding
that the most of life
is the lying in wait