through tree house windows

treehouse

Green places were waiting,
staring through me that day
where these first few
words arrived, whispered
from a small terrace high above
those narrow wooden stairs
Eyes watched back as
mountains stretched across
echo-escaping breath
of mint and blue mist,
uncertain whether a
tea-set tray would hold
enough space to pour ourselves
into two tilted empty cups
stirred through vacant shadows
…where lemon-drenched knives sliced as gin received some yellow grace

Beyond only a distant mountain’s embrace, I saw the intensity of green…her eyes spoke quietly again.  I stared back, not wanting to wake dreams nestled in Willow trees, where childhood thoughts swooped still longingly overhead.  Where small hearts, perhaps once sat staring similarly at the tears of the Weeping willow’s arms hanging, sheltered over them.  Still, the zebras grazed and stared.  Looking up, then down at stripes of stories and unwritten words in black letters falling slowly off the page, what was it he said? – “black with white stripes or white with black stripes”… what would it matter anyway, when in between words, was sun-kissed hair.  It was there through sunlit frames of dawn and in shadowed panes by night, that every small word came alive, looking in and peering out.  And so this story began with a few small words finding me again, calling from the terrace where two full coffee mugs rested warm in morning light,
where small girls became reminiscent…
because new words
formed funny sounds
around my mouth,
you watched
the shape
my mouth – words
small words again
trapped behind
‘that smile’
where palettes of green
wrapped gently around
every word
because they watch
intently, saying silently
they are waiting ~
patiently
behind small frames
perhaps just as

Weeping willows would

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4 thoughts on “through tree house windows

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