Today Theo and I collected
your fallen hearts, pressed
 
them inside of my I Ching where,
like wishes, they will become forever
 
fixed, vein-stained with their moment
of departure. You were a wedding
 
gift. It was spring and everything
was possible. Ardent bark
 
and lustrous leaf, you blazed. Now,
you are tentative, leaning a little
 
as if resisting the burden
of representation. Shy of color
 
and circumstance. I want to cover
your bare shoulders, your many
 
empty arms. As if winter were
something I could spare you.
 
As if letting go were not
the only way to begin.