Some days I am sure that
the branches in my heart
are but arms reaching
            out, furthering
their fragile, reddened grasp
to wrap around another’s.

They know my heart beats
better when I’m around you.
Stronger, somehow; filled
with blood and purpose,
the second of which is sure
to make the first flow sweeter.

Some take exercise.
Others, pills.
I get by with a breath of
prayer and a body filled
with furthering branches.

Who knew that a girl like me—
five foot two, and hardly a reach,
could house enough branches
to stretch out,
                           out, far past
the whining crabbing ships
and furrowing ocean brows

                       to reach you.