Poem

The trees have sex,

Teach,

Focus.

Tohu Bohu

Chaos in a green light.

Alone again.

How alone I twist

at the end of thought

when illness is forgot

and the speaker

is punched on the bark

on the soft models.

The old abbot looked at us and laughed.

He loved electronic gadgets for his tomb.

You were as beautiful

as six almonds

as beautiful as

the naked foot

of the messenger of peace.

You sat in a corner of the page.