You know I remember still
the Lonely Tree you took me to see,
but the fatigue from climbing its hill
I note much more from the day.
 
You were
so proud of its isolation, 
in some romantic kind of way;
how it was
poised so calmly above everything. 
But I don’t remember you and me.
 
I don’t remember if I was really
all that exhausting and defiant,
if I raised your good nature unfairly,
or if that meant I was undermining you
 
somehow.
You were always so easy to get along with, 
so strong and true,
so controlled
and even. To put it another way; 
so fucking, goddamned distant.
 
And when I think of it like that
it is precious easy to recall how
you, I and the afternoon sat
where the Lonely Tree took root.