Sex With Trees and Other Things Equally Responsive Rebecca Lu Kiernan

You’re often sixty seconds
Or seven words
From ever meeting them at all
Having turned twice to leave the party,
Going out of your way to observe
A lightening-struck willow
With pearly orange embers
Where everything would change,
Something calling you
To watch the gray rain,
Squint at a stained glass window
Or stand longer in the impossible
Silence of a swirling street corner,
Dizziness, longing, recognition.

They’re always coming at you
With Norman Rockwellish grins
Translating your map, showing you
Shortcuts, pointing you to home-style
Diners and souvenir shops full of stuff
You can't get anymore, book stores
For your out-of-print tendencies
In their sleepy vampire towns,
Touching your arm
To raise a vein.

But you’re in hot pursuit
Brushing sleeves with them,
Meeting their pale eyes,
X-ed out people in your address book,
Sullen photo of a long-suicide love
In your wallet,
Pulling over to watch
Their mesmeric kaleidoscope leaves,
Steely cobalt lakes and cotton candy skies,
Begging to be mercifully spilled.

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