the tree – elegant gentleman

head so many-worded golden green blue

leaning on a tall cane with a curve

leg outstretched the other

slightly bent at the knee

sentences like waves

in which the leaves babble

glow the same and different

mirrors

the sunset in this scene is a woman

with an insane charm

impossible to satiate,

but the gentleman fills the valley with words

courts her without measure

for so he is brought up…

 ***

if clouds were quilts

this, the fluffiest

I’ve ever seen

I’d order for

the abandoned house on the hillside

to keep it so warm,

so that her chimney smokes

and make it turn pink

***

I go out to catch the tales

with a cool summer lasso

tangled by gins

my stomach shrinks with desire

the dwarfs with powdered faces

leaning on mushroom toadstools

watch me mockingly

and the ants remind teasingly

that I have a very long time to collect

words-thyme

the cones rustle

through their little teeth they whistle

if I like to be careful with flowers

grown in the house on the hillside

Unoccccupied stories!

I stroke the tops of the firs

the afternoons have sesame

and a dark sting

on the horizon the sunset and the buffalo merge

the buffalo does not move

only occasionally wags his tail

like a cord for heavy curtains

and then in a moment

the cord rattles and

the buffalo leaves

and the sunset still lingers