Trees Growing From Cliff Faces
 

Ben Stivers
3/8/07

Trees Growing From Cliff Faces

See me going up the path,
You tried your best to take my hand
Like toy cars, on a track.
You tried your best,
To guide me back.

Watching ocean swells.
This bluff is nothing more than air.
I dove for miles
With nothing there.

Mourn for me,
And I will call for you.
We can trace a line,
A rope, a spindle of silk.
I will comfort you,
As your eyes close,
Mine will too.

I'd punctuate the last three lines as follows:

I will comfort you;
as your eyes close,
mine will, too.

Oh, and I really like it.

You've done better, Benny.