Can't I look?
Can't I glare?
Can't I stand, waiting for light to bounce off the trees?
Wishing it were me up there.
Leaf after leaf --
Branch beneath branch --
A tensing shadow, which crafts of pine and evergreen grow from.
Can't I climb?
Can't I invoke your movement?
Can't I stand, peacefully distant?
Unaware of the skies . . .
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