Open Letter - poetry

Dear Poem:

Today I saw a tree on the sidewalk

with black bark

and branches that became less specific

the higher up it went.

It reminded me of a painting I saw once.

I didn’t say anything, but I thought about you.

Remember the time we heard the singing woman?

We thought her lofty voice was God

and tired to hold her song in our pockets

like the petals we used to pull from flowers.

We should’ve just smelled them and moved on.

That was a long time ago, I guess.

I see these days you fancy cigarettes

and sex in back alleys,

the grand suckling of no strings

music without movement,

while I tie myself to a to this bland stick

and learn to write my words without fire.

The world still remains.

I guess the only thing we changed was us.

I hope this finds you well.

Love Ross.