Rose Lesniak
THE OAK TREE
There are nights, 0 Chicago
summer blows
&
you scream to leave
to be a cherry tree or blossom
to be a highway, sidewalk or bee.
They think you're always happening
changing colors bursting greens
then one day becoming another shape,
a rocking horse or chair.
You see each halo of arc lamp lights
yellow
&
turning to smoke
the chiming of bird notes
the same music repeated.
You know all the constellations
born under one but never see them much any more
you miss hearing the dance of heels
&
toes, heels
&
toes ,
but never walk in early morning
on your wrists sparrows cream
a corpse wrapped you stand
arms extended to un
it's burning
under your eyes
flies
&
mosquitos get along otherwise unnoticed,
abou t the moon you never forget
if you stare too long you 're lost.
