FLASHES

See a tree,
leaves like ears
listening
to whispers of the heart
smiling
in the sun
as if they can hide
their green
a green so grim
it insists on
shining.

Under that tree,
boys and girls, one adult
and a drum:

then years later
a voice on the phone
says half of these are gone.

The tree stands still
in the imagination of one
so far away that his dreams
cannot leave it alone.

We sang and praised under that tree,
pursued hope until the sun stumbled
and regiments of the nights
thundered.

No, not that serious,
but before the sun rots
see the group stomping on time
because they are determined to win
the race before a new day
yawns.

Maybe this is serious:
Two drums, seeking hands
whose fingers ooze art

until we know
this is not about art
out there, but that in here.

The tree is a home,
the boys and girls are sheep
and rain dreams of setting foot here

until the sun stumbles
again, a night without
regiments.

The hooves of time
don't thunder, rather slumber
when throats free imprisoned sounds.
Drums wake,feet hammer the red earth
until it sobs with joy.

If it shines
it's the grim green
smiling in the sun,
a tree with leaves like ears
that listened to things of the the heart
before departure extinguished innocence.