Little Girl behind the tree,
are you me where I used to be?
Are those leaves falling from your hand,
or tears of longing for the magic land?
Grow the seeds inside your mouth.
Let blood and mud and vine come out.
Where your father’s house used to be,
your Mother’s lap has become a tree.
Climb high, and let your walls come down.
You need only know that there is ground.
And rain for water, sky for air.
Sun to warm your pretty hair.
Do not wake from handmade dreams.
Moonlight is the milk you need.
When they say, “what will you be?”
Tell them you will be this tree.
To bend, flutter, dance
and shade with boughs.
Keep baby’s tears,
and stars, and owls.
Without you, there would not be the wise,
or green leaf painting purple skies.
The Earth would not have hands to hold
the children who
all do eventually