Botanical Gardens

A weeping birch:
branches respond to gravity almost
like lovers,
Small leaves like fingertips
caress roughdirt skin
and form a dome
like the kind lovers make
in sheets
in solitude.
As I sit in the heart
of this, a small child almost enters --
he is afraid of what he does not understand.

The sun sets
the tree grows cold
I am reliving
fucking.
This tree reminds me of things I've only felt
a few times.

Soon I will go to the rose garden
and think about how I feel now.


written 10.11.08