A hundred per cent

I would like a century a tree grows slow a crack of light hits my palm while I’m reading I grab to take a picture & the crack is gone branches pouring out of my hands days has made its mark I have wind swept hair I think of my step brother who I knew more like this his face a photo graph on a beach on a book & when he died I was family watching a tree in the wind & I wanted to speak to him who was truly my brother that speck of light is gone on my hand and him. I told her I’d probably like to end here like my com puters do & my dog did. I took a chance w horrifying her. I’m shooting for this love where I live. See me dying now or running across the beach to catch the tree book cover in the end of summer’s wind. The ocean is a feast & it’s here I bring my water tree book feet, taste branches the lot that is me who wants a century.