POSSIBLE TREES: A CENTO

POSSIBLE TREES: A CENTO

In the trembling afternoon
my ovaries
wriggling in blue spooky light.
I speak as one whose filth
sucks up every breath
that moves through the market
up near the ceiling.
But when I tried to imagine
possible trees, trees dark to themselves,
the video years made us brittle.
Maybe I should watch the blossoms
for half a century
with hazelnut eyes —
the tree moved again!
But what concerns me most is not so much the smoke,
in dungarees, a ski jacket and a hard hat,
as the tulip,
swinging in the hammock of the Internet.


25 May 2008
Toronto