I plant the tree

In sight of the house

Hoping it will ease

The pain of losing you

I look to it

As the winter wind sweeps in

Tempted

To wrap a deep 

comforter

Around her

Nymphan shoulders

Through the storm

This is when I know for certain 

A tree is not a child

No marker, nor even

thing with living roots

Can supplant you

My lost daughter

Only fragments of an old, old story

about tears, feet, hair and costly perfume

Broken, poured out

Can signify

This loss between us

And what he is willing

To pay to bring you,

–us-

Back again

Whole.