The trees are red, and there is no
Explanation, now that the sun has
Moved behind the wall. I am so
Skeptical, because so gullible,
Fighting what I know
Because I need to know it.
I toss metaphors like a well-thrown scarf,
For the bloom of life is absolute
And there’s so many ways to slice and dice
It starts to feel at home, the fractures.
Yet the one resists the prism
That turns bird wings, shreds of
Eucalyptus, sidewalks red,
For perspective — what we infants
Lean on to help us walk —
Must be shown to be illusion,
A manipulation just like time and space
And things —
I thought I was exhausted
Giving all I had to the world, when in fact
It was tiring to hold everything inside,
To have never given anything away.
