How can you know?
I don’t but I do,
not from in you,
the brown leaf crumpled in me.
Sex is an inverse mountain,
when it’s sex you shouldn’t have –
you coast gleefully, carefree to the top –
a bicycle ride down to the highest,
perfect view –
and Oh what a view! but then
(Oh what a view) you’re not
atop it but under it –
that was not the climb, this is,
a getting out from under and
not dying, one hopes,
from a place you should never have been.
Why again news, no more news
of divorce. I hadn’t heard of these two,
hadn’t dreamed they’d divorce.
A tree sways in the wind, but doesn’t
do as trees normally do, it cracks
like a painting
Why was there no woman of tears
and soft hands to go to this tree,
and massage it before it died?