I could love a tree
They are rooted like me
Entwined with aloof rings
And morphine butterflies

We could never ensconce the earth
Not through running, dying or dreaming

If the world was an atlas
I would have abandoned it, grimy
Atop the sky’s inky armoire

I, encapsulated in her trunk
As if an echo in a domineering cavern
With all my vinyls, geodes, tubers
And she: an overpass over my heart’s
Poppy-ravaged gorge