2.6.11

The life spills over, some days.





She cannot be at rest,
Wishes she could explode







Like that red tree–






The one that bursts into fire

All this week.









Senses her infinite smallness
But can’t seize it,


Recognizes the folly of desire,







The folly of withdrawal–


Kicks at the curb, the pavement,


If only she could, at this moment,















When what she’s doing is plodding



To the bus stop, to go to school,



Passing that fiery tree–if only she could



















Be making love,
Be making poetry,
Be exploding, be speeding through the universe







Like a photon, like a shower

Of yellow blazes–

She believes if she could only overtake























The riding rhythm of things, of her own electrons,
Then she would be at rest–
If she could forget school,
























Climb the tree,

Be the tree,

Burn like that.





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