You’re thinking about that tree

Again.

She’s sitting there

Fogged by memory,

With her hair done up lazy and loose.

Her,

Sitting on the blanket you bought,

Meant for the beach but you couldn’t find

A picnic pattern at the thrift store.

She

Made sandwiches,

The best you’ve ever had because you never tasted them again.

You’re worried she will fade with time,

So you lay in bed with the blanket stained by mayonnaise

And force her figure deep

Into the strands of your mind and

Try to find her in your dreams.