We have an oak 
inside our spines;
keeping our backs straight, 
filled with what we call 
our selves, branches
exploding 
where we think.

In these branches, 
nests are built
by birds we can't control.
Flying from our mouths
from branches 
we never noticed,
we are shocked
by these feathered sparks 
that ignite forests
as they burst from the trees
with burning red feathers. 

So, the birds. 
Exploring territories
we fear, and we grow
shamed by the flight paths
and beg them to come back;
"Come back to me, so I may see
which branch you have come from!" 

So then, with forests burning,
the birds flying, frantic
from where does the rain come
that sends them back to shelter,
and puts out all the flames?

Oh, this spinal fluid, 
flush it out with tears.
The tree grows stronger 
in this way. 

-e.

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