stars in the trees1
By Sarah Lavelle

Invisible stitches bind us, veins,
imaginary channels between us.
I alone here shiver, and you
there, button your sweater.
Is it your footstep up the stairs?
Just branches, always branches and
wind blowing wisps of my hair
the way your fingertips do
nights I cannot sleep. I will not cry,
just pull the window shut and sigh a sigh.
This is my work then, to see these
immaterial connecting vectors,
wind my way through a jungle I
can’t see, to feel my hand in yours
when we are far apart.

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