t r e e c o m b
treecomb comb the coming air
as i sit and blankly stare
upward with my back on a floor full of needles
that wait sideways in congruent sleep
to be born again.
above they make a treecomb,
a tree's shiny shark teeth.
E v e n i n g
It is evening and bouquets of conversation are floating down the many streets
of a city awash with indirect light
from something that sunk about one hour ago.
Don't be a mouse, be a lion
