Shorter works

A pleasure garden

The tree that trembles truly
tries to tango with me
twitting with arms made of light
and turquoise twigs come flitting down
the landscape of dreams is wet
with the rain of joy

Or do I mean—moist
Yes, I’m sure that is moist
I can feel it between my toes

Squelching as a bog of pleasure
whispers its glutinous words
I am sunk
I am sunk within you
and you within me
if only it were true
if only my mind and heart and soul could invent you
exactly as you should be

But the glue solidifies around my trembling feet
they are heavy as I stand watching my dream take flight
way up there, getting smaller and smaller
a shimmering illusion vaporizing
as an imaginary bird with wings made of air

And then it is gone
and I find myself standing in my garden
shod in mud
my bare feet cold and wounded
my arms shaking those dead branches

But no twigs take flight
and I sink under the heavy realization
Yes, I can see it now—

I was mistaken