falling behind, the sound's shadow
cast like a thought
after words express
a wish or need for simple things.
I hear you unlatch the doorand call down
Please buy some almonds.
You Probably nodand say yeah;
but I 'm tangled in the branches
of van Gogh’s blossoming tree. Not just the painting
on our wall but the willfulness
in madness -- not mellow grace
after lying under tomes of snow.
Sheets bookscrapped with leavestwigs and deer tracks that shift
to boot heels marking their way
toward this house, this room, this woman
who listens to time -- steeped
in the wild scent of her imagination.