A Symmetry

The magnolia before it blooms stands

bare as a statue from antiquity or

a shaved puss, it flowers first

then greens. A pissed off dyke

climbs into the branches

to be held by an ancient

indifference and both

were me. Yet it’s possible I am

a short bald man. That I am neither

a big-bosomed wide-hipped pretty

nor a short bald man. An antelope, an elk, a deer

on this rug, a twiggy tree.

The genderless squat figure,

solo, blurry, hands on hips, that repeats.

A plush life of winter and

summer colors of flowers alongside

tight checkered bands

edging the broad green center

where we look for each other,

a woods, a pasture, a park, a yard, a median of grass

set in a concrete mold situated

within a pay lot. How it feels to stand

outside a house at night whose lights are on.

Whose lights are on.