The hollow tree,

The soap doll,

The lucky pennies—

He watches from his windows

Trapped by his coughing curtains

His dusty smile

And the glint of scissors.

He watches sadly from his windows

He has always been watching

He will always be watching

His smile as glassy as the windows—

Till one night he is with me

Solid and sure as a tree

Sweet sap flowing inside his crooked smile

Protector.

He was once like a playing tree for us

The kind we’d carve our initials in

And swing recklessly from its branches.

Now he is like a honeyed September tree

Fading in warm sunset rain

So sad,

His hands like bark

Leaving me alone on the porch,

Moths and streetlights.

He is the ghost that saves

He is the missing color

Flashing from the window

Lighting up the tree,

The tree called

Compassion

Understanding

Love.