974. A SCAR ON THE TRUNK OF A SYCAMORE TREE

A SCAR ON THE TRUNK OF
A SYCAMORE TREE
Open wide the shining vision,
whitecoats on the streets of Rome.
'The Bride Vanished Before Daybreak!'
L'Osservatore Romano said the Pope,
'too old to live, too young to die,' was in trouble
once more. He bowed down before the tomb of
Romacarino Fluncarius, third prelate of the
Old City, and never again got up. Death comes
to the Archbishop. Ask not for whom the
tell bowls, or something. Wisteria blooms
in the courtyard of Life. I left, just then.
-
'No, no, no, and no, and, no again.
Yes, yes and yes, again and, yes, no.
Wherein and when? With, yes, again?
-
Uncle Loto's tree trunk bore the carving
of a dove. He himself had done it
when he was twelve. The tree had
grown, the bark had stretched, and
now that dove looked like nothing
more than a big splotch, a scar
on the trunk of a sycamore tree.