the pine trees

curve inward

until they close in over our heads.

today they form a cave of sorts

and our voices echo back and back,

ring in our ears

the way prayers do.

even now I still stumble over 

home but these pine needles 

could make a nest,

could weave into blankets and

settle our trembling limbs.

and these trees embrace each other 

the way I wish we could,

hold each other so tight

we are stuck inside.

but this is not a heartless cave,

and inside there is the warmth

of a fire ready to burn

our cave to the ground.