A Row of Trees

I bend the toothpick back
and forth until it snaps

other clocks are more accurate
appetite     earworms     the little flesh

of light upon everything
at dawn














erratic nightmares in the greenbelt
twig-stabbed dolls and shot-up Datsuns

on this page someone circled     “empirical”
“enlightenment”     “comprehensive”     “ineffable”

then underlined
a hot bath for Hector, returning from battle














in order to sleep I call out
the questions

I ask     (it repeats)
who gave me these questions?

my parents behind me
when will you be back? who’s driving? etc.














“life isn’t always pigeons”
some unsolicited side-talk

siren through the playground
two lines in translation

“a ball of air
                     leaves a box”














the thing tonight no one showed up for
I follow the shore home past old money

a dozen apartment buildings named
“blank on the lake”     it’s sunset now

now there’s no sun     orange light
finds the water     it’s the city














dear sleep     please take that look
from your face     I’m scared when

your face looks like you make bullets
(do you make your own bullets?)

(was that you in the courtyard
with your axe to the fruit tree?)














I wake and tell no one I dreamed rows
of charred corpses sitting in airline seats

infinite pairs through the forest     kneeling
in unison     child’s pose     before melting

into the undergrowth     two weeks
after I watched Hiroshima, Mon Amour














private bus service     at the public
bus stop     one charter failed

for good this time     for good     (finally)
we root for this failure     for ruined

plans for the evening     for evening     period
for whatever people mean when they say it














I visit the field     dead sculptor’s iron
sold for scrap     bare earth now where

the dragon stood     St. George blank-palmed
no sword     a snail beneath his heel     is he

reaching in the cupboard for peanut butter?
he looks like someone who is reaching














so burn your thesis
already     burden

a surrogate victim
you were making

an argument     I thought
you made poems














on the ferry I wrote a note
“remember chiasmus”

a sunfish floated on its side
was it dying?     flirting

with surface?     no that’s
just swimming     for him














Tarkovsky’s horse
stumbled downstairs

broke its leg and was speared
on-screen     another soldier

rose from his nap
in the meadow














we are specific children now
we are older and blanker now

along for the ride     whatever lurks
in the mailbox is the good error

conducting its business
on the slick front steps
















I know the risks
you take folding

laundry in a yellow
dress     you fold

some sunshine
in those clothes














I’m told not to eat before testing so I watch even closer
how a whole day happens     I waste minutes waiting

and wait for the wasted minutes to return     a magazine
catalogues our recent extinctions     goodbye to the dusky

seaside sparrow     goodbye to anything that could tell us
so much about the sea     about sparrows     and dusk














in a gallery the artist crafts a tree
from dead trees but can’t seem to get

the rough edge right     once I was stabbed
and carried the knife with me     the way some

shot people carry bullets     the way the poem
carries this worm inside it     inside it















for what haunts is home     for being told nothing is worse
than being told what haunts is home     for to hear

what haunts re-promised to someone else and think
home?     for Lear’s problem was having a kingdom to divide

in the first place     for we do not know how it governs
for every solution entails new questions      for example














I put down
the book     what-

ever is gained
from going to the

country will be
gained in green














just another way to bring home flowers     tiny icon
I’ve plucked from Apple     the opposite of love

could be anything but especially “infrastructure”
or “portability”     I’m waiting in traffic

for the ducklings to pass     no one has all night
but no one wants to be a monster














only centuries could move this slow     watermark
on the ceiling     rain came in     left     and left

its scar     leaving leaves such things     leaves leave
this way too     seems a drag but it’s the speed

things happen     don’t you get it?
I want to be around you     around people














tomorrow’s disquieting delinquent
arrival     thin blade

of moon     you don’t
want to waste it

you have to maintain devotion
before it disappears














I am one of those people
determined to circle

the lake before dawn
I am one of those

gap-toothed people silent
about missing spaces














again I call out the questions
which repeat     so ask who gave me

these questions     these almonds
this salt dish     a honey bear asleep

on its head     a mess of flies     this wall
of faces mistaken for leaves














something naïve
in living decent

beside shadows
in the median     a row

of perfectly symmetrical trees
how odd they seem














other clocks
other clocks

dry bark
broken

into
hexagons