The Window/The Giving Tree

I sat at my window the way that
I imagine Michael sat in his Giving Tree;
thinking of the many wonderful things
and the many grotesque silhouettes.
I sat there, feeling the breeze kiss my face
and play with my hair, as if my brown eyes
were his brown eyes, watching as the wind
might have wanted to wear his hat.
I sat there, relieved that the clouds offered
shade from the sun, which blinded me,
the same way I imagine Michael wearing long-sleeves
in hot summer California afternoons because
the sun was almost toxic like ultra-violet radioactive liquid.
I sat there, and in my mind,
I heard music and prose that I imagine as
my own little song, and I imagine
that when he sat in his Giving Tree,
Michael heard what he called
a "symphony from the heavens", and composed it.
-lj
27 February 2017