3311. TREES

TREES

There wasn't a blanket for the forest,

nor a forest for the trees. Everything

was white, like a solid wall, bright. We

jangled the commingled action, screaming

all the while about things unseen. You

partied with your face off. I was the jester

to your mourning cloth. New Orleans and

then Mount Arlens  -  two such different

places and neither made a difference to

each. I called, but they all were calling back.

-

When the reivers hit the river, everything

went down. We were caught in the flood,

down in the flood, lost in the flood. We

were lost in the flood, down in the flood,

caught in the flood. My Arlington master

said I'd 'finally made the grade, in spite

of all else.' I really thanked him, and left.

-

With all of that, I was alone with...the trees.

A spangled whitewash, a jeddermaster fope

of mis-matched words, a harlequin of night's 

own fusion. I spoke to my dark shadow, and

it spoke right back, by the light of a now

gorgeous moon. I'd 'finally made the 

grade, in spite of all else.'