Sex With Trees and Other Things Equally Responsive Rebecca Lu Kiernan

Red Tree Prophecy

I imagine you alone at your desk
Shifting your long legs beneath

The cage of the work bread hour,
Appendages tingling against the

Pins and needles of blood begging
To course, head propped on your wrist

Closing your eyes against the tweed
And faded denim and cherry wood and

Ancient creaking floors and the smell
Of dust on books and ink and

The forgotten whiff of skin when my
Sleeve brushed yours and nothing more,

Scrubbing your face with my feathery
Branches, pressing your nose to the

Back of my neck, knees bent to my root
Trying to cup your trembling tongue

For torturously slow morning sap.

CoverPrevious PoemNext Poem 2River