I am the wind leaping through summer leaves, 

and you are uprooting trees crashing simultaneous to thunder. 

I am lilting sunshine, 

while you are seductive clouds. 

I am the odor of a sun-soaked bouquet, 

and you are the grumpy stench of manure. 

I am the sun weaving through the tree branches, 

while you are still the shadows that forbid it. 

I am a block of cheese fresh from Trader Joes, 

while weeks later you become the mold that spoils it. 

I am the colorful pollinating tissue-paper butterflies, 

While you won’t be anything other than swarming mosquitoes. 

Why, I don’t know, but some days you, yes you

are the stories that entwine through tree bark, 

while I am the ax that brings them pummeling down. 

You are capable the symphony of birds coloring the oxygen, 

while I am the sound of a lonely gross motor alone on the highway.