Like how birds speak
And beg their desires,
I understand the language
Of the tree and its foliage
Across from the balcony
Where I sit to expect
The cadence of leaves
The rhythm of branches
Swaying and breaking
To the sounds of wind,
To the various yellows
Of the September sun.
I am as stubborn
As the worm or the wasp
Alone in its search
For sense and meaning
I vaguely see all morning,
I faintly hear all day
Among echoes and murmurs
Puzzling and embarrassing me
Like they come from the audience
Watching me in a plastic chair
Burn sticks of red Marlboros,
Sip black, sugarless coffee.
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