my father was a tree in a forest

god, amichai, you.
we wander the sites of a black mood,
change adjectives at will
never looking back or down
at the roots we've been shoving
into soil.

they come to bear anyway.


when i'm lonely i think of how perfect
you were when i wasn't looking at your life
as it is, at your actions what they are
but at what you might become
if what you wanted was what you still wanted.


he wanted her to wait on the bench
just right there until he sorted
this all out. he'd be done soon
he was sure, just a bit more time to get his
head on straight. she couldn't stand
watching him take it off and screw it back
on upside down or a slightly off kilter and that
time it was on inside out was really too much
even for the kids. they pulled
all the tape from the casing
and took the slasher films back
on time
after that. the things they were good at
together were the things they never did
when doing them would have mattered.
she laughed at the joke, but he shook
his fist at god and his grandfather's
menorah. he was a lottery ticket that never came in.
but she just couldn't put it away
so she kept buying the same numbers every week
that never came in and when he returned
he looked for her in vain, telling
the old lady on the bench but she was just
here i thought she'd wait for me the bitch.