Old Friend

Gone is the oak tree and the girl who climbed it

One remains though wholly changed, one is here but not the same

My bones ache like breaking branches,

dropping both baby and cradle

Away went the tiny stump in the

hollow stomach of its arms,

to climb onto and dream and read and be,

perfected into shape by what could only be the hand of God

Sitting as crickets and locusts and the sun and grass and the moon

all bent to time

But not us, old friend

I will stand in your place, arms swaying in the breeze

Reaching for the sky where you sent your dreams

on a floating cloud or shooting star

You did no wrong, exacted no revenge, felt no fear

Nor will I