in the trees

standing in the trees i could hear faintly from up the hill
the managerie. my hands stained from the freshly picked
bleuberries maybe our lips too. can i take a picture of you 
yes, i said standing nervously. i will delete it i whispered to myself
handing me the camera, there in the walnut and grey birch trees
there was a glimpse of something as if the sand in the hour glass
that was once me still lingered. so this is me in the trees, on the hill at

home.