distant, keeps odd hours. A foreigner, regarded with a mixture of bemused tolerance and mistrust.
we forget after a while that they aren’t the horizon, that their trees don’t go on forever, that the sky is wider than we can know.
who kept giving me forms to fill out.
to rescue children drowning in a river. One of them has already grown fins and a tail.
No pain, no gain, he makes me hiss through a throat stretched thin as a telephone line.
why doesn’t it pool underground
like a reservoir of eternal summer?
Why don’t the green, leaf-shaped katydids
turn brilliant colors before they die?
When lovers intertwine, why don’t they fuse
like roots from adjacent trees?
If a human falls in a city and there are
no trees around, does it leave a hole?
But he wasn’t president, just a racist old relative with appalling fashion sense, and everyone else was pretending he didn’t exist.