march 2019

Picture

You send me a picture

            and I suppose this is always

                        how we speak with other:

one of us on this side

            of the world, the other on that;

                        miles of cables pulsing light

between us, buried low

            undersea; a picture popping up

                        on my screen of a single tree

split into two, three, ten

            trunks, old arms and new arms

                        tangled like ours are not.

For long seconds I look.

            Monochrome and angled grace.

                        Leaves scatter the ground.

I am alone here, and

            untangled. Send me grace.