Barren Pine

If the trees had eyes I wonder what they would've remarked. Seeing what we'd done. That coy strategy of ours for happiness. To steal it from others. And if those same trees had ears I can't imagine what they would've heard. The selfish grunt of love tugging on the yarn it knits. Unraveling itself by the pull of its incessant weight.

I wish that was enough. Then. There. The moment caught in its own net. Flailing like a fish. Hook still through its mouth. I want to say it's over. Been done and need not ever be anew.

There we were. Too much what we wanted to be ourselves. There we dug until the soil refused. There was no treasure buried to be discovered. Just the one we had always been trying to lose.

At least it worked. It must have.

Cause there's nothing now.

Barren pine all around, but none so much as I.