Laurel's Hurst

A leisurely walk in the park
and I ended up on a patch of grass
by a metal sculpture.

Grapes are purple.
Grass is green.
My blood is red.

Hullahoop loops around his waist
as he stands on that park table.
Round and round it goes.
It's just like making love.

"I'm from Maryland" the tree shouts.
"I'm from Tigard."
Oh.

"Hey Blanket girl!
climb up the tree."
I read on:
"The invisible floating universe of
kisses rising up in a sequined helix
of dust and cinnamon."

My non-answer wasn't enough.
He rode over on his bike.
"Climb the tree. Everyone else is."
I read on:
"There is a way if we want out of
drowning."

The tree shouts again:
"I love you, red-head blanket girl!
Come climb the tree!"
Smiling, I read on:
"Tonight the moths are beating the shit out
of themselves on the screen door."

My non-answer wasn't enough.
Another walks over on his feet.
"Sorry we were harrassing you from the tree.
It was too much. But if you want to come over,
please do."

Austin. That man's name.
Was leading the procession
of Laurel's Hurst.
Austin. That man's name.
Brought the End of the West.

"In the burning miracle
The trees aren't really trees,
the trees are really people
men women and children
we see that now."