Our Roots

Stealing our fingertips

Filleting each tender pad from each fleshy stump

Gluing this soft slice of skin discreetly upon the swaying leaves of a red-handed tree

Our unique nothingness caught in spiraling, climber vines which will eventually collect the rest of us

Sifting through our tissue and bones when we finally die in the ground

Giving our mortal meat to the trees

Down the street