You’ll find me in similes

like a leaf carried in the breeze,

in metaphors I’m climbing trees

I’m rooted in rhythm

I’ve grown a fruit nurtured

from a grieving allegory

soft scented and soothing alliteration

and free form

in case you ever visit these parts

that is where I’ll be.

 

If I get cut down in my prime

be assured I’m here in rhyme,

if you’re ever at a loss

see who’s resting in the t’s cross,

watching you with dots for i’s.

 

As poplar turns to parchment turns to pixels

I’ll never really leave your side-

count to ten and run

into love’s forestry of poetry;

that is where I hide.