Amber

In youth, the old pine was full of sap
that now runs down like honey, golden
sweet and thick. My thoughts are trapped
like ants in amber, half-unfolding
half-unfinished, frozen forms
encased in amber. I'm slowing down,
my needles frayed by winter storms
burned by summer's heat to brown.
Come under my branches and gather
sweet amber drops, a necklace threaded
around your sweet neck. I'd rather
throw away broken thoughts embedded
in drops of gold than try to keep
unfinished thoughts to mutter in my sleep.