I once though the Fall Tree
Looked like a picture of a monk
Who set himself on fire.
I knew the relevance
of that picture, then.
And the leaves drained their color away
On the ground like embers, which simmer
Until they are invisible.
I don’t believe there are monks
Anymore. I have never met one.
And the trees don’t shed – they melt
Like snow before the first snowfall.
And back then I didn’t know her
And I do now. And she doesn’t
Talk to me the way I’d like
her to talk to me.
Back then I hadn’t left
To go far away, but now I’m back
And now things are too familiar –
Than they have ever been.
I changed but now I’m changing back
To a wet tree, melting leaves away.
Back then I believed in monks.
Now trees are actually trees,
Something monks once aspired to be.