Unbury me 

from my  

claustrophobic coffin. 

I’m tired 

of the stench  

of rotting evergreen. 

 

I’m tired, 

lost, 

in a solitary graveyard, 

where my only friends 

are a dead leaf 

and soot in my jaws 

 

I forgot this feeling- 

the pressure of breathing. 

I’m tired, 

yet somehow 

this storm of breath 

leads me North.  

 

Finally home, I can see 

the shimmer of Christmas 

lights in my treehouse. 

There’s a frosted axe against the trunk, but 

I’m tired,  

I don’t feel like moving it. 

 

This snow-capped spruce 

is shivering  

like me,  

like an earthquake,  

I should climb down but 

I’m tired 

 

Stop the chopping,  

I’m tired  

of that thwacking.  

I know what 

you’re gonna do 

with the timber.