A Tree in Four Parts

Part 1

I am a tree.  I was born in some South American city starting with the letter 'N' that I cannot pronounce.  I was born some time ago, but not having a brain, it is a year that is not right now.  Whoever decides trees knows the kind of tree I am.  

Quercus L., oak

Prunus serrulata, Japanese cherry blossom (despite geographical probability)

Cupressus sempervirens, cypress (oh, to be!)

I am fat in blossom.  I am sweaty and churned from cold, heat, and spring.  I am hard and barked.  

What I know is what I see.  I see like the stretching of a Hand.  I can feel Them walking from miles away, picnicking for a day.  I feel times back They have never been; my breath, an ocean.  These washes are east of me.

The wind, the wind.  She is my neglect sent rummaging for roots.  I have never lost.  I will never lose.  She is that guest I am always most awesomely in fear of seeing.  She knocks and loots.  Branches fall--embarrassment.  Because I do not know my time, I do not know who accuses me, who whispers solemn breath.  But, loud and wide, such clarity in Sky. 

Oh! Solemnity! Welcome to being a tree!  We do not shop, we do not sport, we do not bake, we do not style.  I drop my branches low for seasonal ebb and flow and smile.

Part 2

The Blooms

What kind of overgrown earth tells even one of us to green?  Which massive silly fern knows the kind of blooming we're in? Who knows the noon when leaves start falling?  Speak up and rustle.  You shake like an idiot, and the wind is still climbing. You must have caught all the hawks and the owls in their howling.  Surely, you log, like mossed rocks, you feel iron; surely, the mining; surely, the jawing, the inching deep into your linings.  You fall like an idiot, and the smell of burnt lumber is rising. The toothy metal disc mixes sooth, oil, and writhing; releases noxious toasty charring.  Your innards have no sound and your rings are all but charming.  But do, tell us, "Bloom! Grow your pine, you've no time to be inspired!" Shut up, distant thief. You cannot have the blooms we are finding.  Older leaves are falling.  The wind is gracious in its rising.  

Part 3

hickory, burger

oak, burn

cypress, hill

cherry blossom, tattoo

dogwood, meadow

weeping willow, frog

pecan, home

pine, forest

evergreen, snow

fur, christmas

aspen, needles

maple, guitar

birch, simon

mahogany, money 

cherry, truth

basswood, architect 

walnut, walrus

Part 4

tree tree tree tree tree tree grey tree tree 

tree tree tree tree tree tree tree tree tree

tree tree tree tree tree tree tree tree tree

Dripping

sludgy gunk,

    gear

bagel

    flat     

black-toasted 

video 

     crescent man,

sorry or splaying:

"listen, I don't have the right answers"

staring at the wood room,

spooked by airy headroom

           roll pursed lips roll

secret oil

       enunciate freely

Pickles

hey maddening hand, 

love could be a quotation,

love in this derision, 

pickles in this sandwich,

pickles' greenness,

cut out the spice

thrill-high, uni-dart

cutthroat     

mister, my

miss impresario 

          shattered 

half a glass

of fucky reunion,

of tangled retrace

of spoiled tomatoes 

of my most 

rotten 

hesitance

Daffodil

all I can't do is think about you, dear

bird linings, 

my shores mis-nix 

a hurdle, and I am done

with you 

forever with you. 

my shoes and pants 

in step, un-lining,

lie and soft, 

a game 

'round the rose, 

this mega-mirepoix

fail upon

the daffodil 

back with fruit 

and bitter stamen

This Sphere of a Thing

this sphere of a thing.  the sphere 

doesn't move.  the parts that are

its edges, the wane, the waxing,

inconclusive, the dog on some patio

then gone, then a jaw 

   pain, reimbursement, all sorted

measures

   measures

       measures

this sphere of a thing.  

this sphere of a thing.  time that comes rushing 

as a bee.  to raspberry.  

this sphere of a thing. 

this sphere of a thing.  I'm all

but collapsing.  it's a worm-like foggy

interlude who banks, near nude,

this sphere of a thing.

this sphere of a thing.  a black line

pasted, because it was cut, onto.

that's what I see but shouldn't.  

me on one  

      side of the meadow,

me and langue 

      remote. 
I'm teen.  rosy 

immaturity, rosy shake.  

      rosy imbalance

rosy mistake 

slow 

this sphere of a thing.  above mine,

if I close my eyes. 

ha!  a cat wilder.  

ha!  one eye.  Creeley 

for reals, those squirrels, those dives,

languid, sordid, inadequate rhymes 

      ferocity  

up cheer, excellence, 

      bye,

holler exceptional, holler crime, sun-lick face, 

new york times, unfamiliar passages, unfamiliar 

      lines

              fire on wall

              fire on wall 

                unfamiliar fire, 

              fire this tall