that tree hanging up in my new room
same one hanging from your rearview mirror
emanates the smell of you
of home, of drives, of tight lips,
moments of quiet.
it lulls the pit of my stomache
flashing alternately between
dream and memory
hate and sympathy
and now so far away
separated by airplanes
airwaves and time change
i feel it letting go
feel less of the hold
but it doesn't mean that it was nothing
just means that it was something grand
and aching, sweet and savory
when it was what it was
and it was.