Mister Deep Wanted to Know

Which part of the tree I was, if I thought I was a tree

the root, the bud (a modified leaf) the chloroplast

the stamen of the flower. I get it — if I can imagine part of it

I can imagine all of it — I might as well be the tip of the branch

Seeking the sun, as the place the two branches dissect, each seeking

its Own, or maybe the whole pattern, what’s wrong, Mr. Deep?

He was gone. I think I disappointed him. I think he wanted me to say

That I was both the thought that I was part of the tree, and also

the thought I was the whole thing? Maybe?

Not sure.

These days I disappoint everybody.


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