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Ideal tree


God is in the forest counting trees.

You are in the city writing poems.

You put a tree in a poem.

A tree without roots or branches

Or squirrels or sap

Without even a shadow

In its crown, for it grows

Without even a crown.

You are so pleased with your poem

And with the sound it makes

When you read it out loud

And when you whisper it

Into your pillow at night

You call your poem

“The Tree of Everlasting Love”

And plant it lovingly

Between the waiting pages

Of an unwritten book.

There it dwells for many years

Untainted by moss or regard.

And when you finally publish

Your book of sad poems

No one even notices the tree.

No one sees it burning coldly

Through all the foggy mornings

Of your misinterpretable world.

from The IrrationalistFind more by Suzanne Buffam at the library

Copyright © 2010 Suzanne Buffam
Used with the permission of Canarium Books.

Published in Poems Suzanne Buffam

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