strawberry tree

It is


something spun I found or believe in the red-and-green leaves.




There's something broken in the gold-and-brown leaves.




There's something real in the green-and-green leaves.




In the brown and purple leaves I returned to tell




surrounding the haze,


brocade fiber switch
of the canopy, focus,



sun yet streaming on brown-striped arms and legs.
A man draws near. He comes alongside with the steady, purposeful strokes of a man accustomed to speaking.




But I can't reply. How will we share


our crimson childbed, our separate prams parked in the shade?




I shrieked and the strawberry fell into my mouth.




Weren't we then fish of the same water?


Swimming through the port-holes and the weedy eye-sockets?




We shrieked and our strawberries fell into our mouths.




And it isn't good or bad, it's Only.




hello...


You'll get cold if you don't dry off.




I say to you in all seriousness, I eat one.