Throught the trees of Tamarit
have come the hounds of lead
waiting for the branches to fall,
waiting till they shatter themselves.

Tamarit has an apple tree
with an apple on it that sobs.
A nightingale gathers the sighs
and a pheasant leads them off through the dust.

But the branches are happiness,
the branches are like us.
They don't think of rain, they sleep,
as if they were trees, just like that.

Sitting, their knees in water,
two valleys awaited the Fall.
The twilight with elephantine step
leant against trunks and branches.

Through the trees of Tamarit
are many children with veiled faces
waiting for my branches to fall,
waiting till they shatter themselves.

When a boy asks you to structure yourself,
break his fingers.
Find his weakness
and will
them against him.
hold him to the standard
that all that is not structured shall snap.
Sharpen yourself to a point and pierce him.

A minivan sits in a parking lot.
Nothing exceptional
but 3 red
"don't text and drive" bumper stickers
and another white one
too.
Projecting
angst and loss, they want to tell
the world what to do.
Can you blame them?

I hear you,
and I'm sorry that someone
else
wasn't listening.

In this storm I have become a raft.
I just go with the flow,
here to save you from drowning
when it becomes too hard to swim.