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          Where is this tree going...
          By Simon Perchik


          Where is this tree going, footsteps
          as if the snow never saw these leaves
          and reaches underneath --a silver maple

          snagged, and from the clearing
          stars pick up the scent
          swarm like flies around a sore --each branch

          looking at its tracks on the ground
          as crowds still toss rice
          or ticker-tapes or flowers
          though the tree has long ago forgotten
          what was celebrated that fall, and my eyes

          trying to move --that much the tree remembers
          how at a time half the world still burned
          it taught them to blink
          to clear the path thunder would follow

          --my eyes couldn't close fast enough.
          They never saw the darkness, the fire
          fall --yes! yes! what a fire! still
          in a heady breeze, my eyes
          still reminded, will flush the dents
          the blown-out parts --every spring
          I re-paint, still, in the warm dawn
          suddenly the house
          white, disguised, more ice on top
          held near, wherever it's going.






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Document last modified on: 01/06/2007

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