Despair is watching you try to
mend your heart day after day.
It is wanting to fashion a breastplate
from my own bones to keep you whole.
It is the color of the earth
found at the base of the pecan tree
in my father’s front yard.
Dark and mysterious, the earth
flings the tree toward the sky.
I gaze at clouds with dirt on my hands
and wonder if we will be as old as
this tree before we can touch them.