Treehouse
They gifted me a living house, with hedgerows
Out the windows and a pile of thoughts inside
All night, I hear it breathing life
It creaks, shivering out the breezes
Bleeding darkness out into the hollowed
Out interiors as the living sap once would
It is uncertain what to do with me
It has taken all I own as its
But I am still held back. Not unwanted
But unwelcome yet. No place found
I try. I have lived inside a house
Where dead stones pave the floor
And draw your heat. Here, grass forms
The streets and is not thought as weeds
But as a microcosm living as its own small world
Frail against the greatness, yes
But holding so much more inside.