with the fragile pines (poem)

i shake with the fragile pines 
and crouch on mounds of pine straw 
before rattling brick paths.

– but like esther greenwood
i am, i am, i am
because i shake with the 
emotions of being human
words sanded in my throat
coughed through the glass
roof of my mouth just
rounded enough by tumbling rain water
down the brick paths to 
not shatter me –

and i shake with the fragile pines
and the falling swirling green needles 
that bend, not break.