That tree
The oak out front
The one indelibly tattooed on me
In full moon light
When everyone is quiet
Above all imposed virtue
Moreys
Those vanish
Comfortably in their dreamscapes
Meeting their lives love
Committing Crimes
They would never imagine 
Appropriate 
Necessary 
Fair
Or in some cases
Riding on the back 
Of an ice cream donkey
Into the sunset

In that quiet
I can see
With all certainty
Who that tree really is

Im looking into the eye of  a scowling Bowser
Two eight-limbed horns

This is the tree 
That triple dog dares me
To stop squatting
Not this front porch
Unfiltered and French inhaling
Sighing because this tree
Is shaming me with its boughs 

Leave!
It dares me
And I will
I should
So I can find 
Like the dreamers above
my life's love