Still as a plant

The tree is empty
save for red berries and full, green leaves,
until you come with a partner one Saturday, early.
Checking out the territory, you dance on its branches:
one inside - then out - 
one inside - then out.
I have questions for you:
     is it nesting time?  
     can this be your new home?
     will the berries be enough?

The tree is empty, 
filled only with hope
as you navigate its branches.
I sit, empty too, still as a plant,
watching you:
afraid to move -
scared you'll fly away.