Leaning up against a tree,

The years wrapped round in circles.

Those rings kept wrapped round

In tightened bark, poking like a

Curious finger, Given some time,

I’m sure that the tree would

Wrap around my skin, keep me

Safe and silent and slow,

Allowed to watch the low wall

That wraps around this park,

Disintegrating into rubble

And being built again out of

That rubble. I’d see the children,

Let loose by their parents to play,

Grow old and set their own kids

To climb our gnarled branches,

Up as high as they dare to go,

Their first kisses under those branches

With eager sideways looks

That are full of something that

Always grows but never grows old.