I told her that they were aspen trees. 

When I really wanted to say: 

“They’re connected at the roots. 

Sometimes you’ll get whole forests 

that way. One can get sick and infect 

the whole grove. Martyrdom 

has always been my love language; 

passion my favorite death sentence. 

I’d pick your blight everytime, 

If you’d pick me from a crowd. 

I want to love you in all the ways 

I know how: gracelessly, like a match 

falling to the forest floor. Just for you. 

Even if you’re not listening, 

even if you look and only see trees.”