I chase after you in my dreams –
running & rooted,
“Dit is niet vrij! It’s your spot, darling.”
While you trot on –
careless & carefree,
whistling your perfect whistle
and swallowing my voice
into the formidable darkness.



You –
bright, warm mass
the bearer of light
atop your high pedestal you hang.
Bane of the earth –
the ground you strut upon

Fortune Me –
fortune me. Fortune Tree.
Boon of my soul –
for my crimson sail blooms
and my branches reach for you.