CONFESSION

When I was eight, I spent most of my time in a tree.

It was my favorite tree. I didn’t name or number the limbs.

I knew them pretty well, though. Was I invisible
in the tree, my tree? Highly

Unlikely. Perhaps at dusk: ignoring everything time.
The dinnerbell rings:

Steak is served;
Beans are passed;
Coffee is readied;

Conversations begin for example:

Where is the little ragamuffin?

Homework, undone. Spanish, non-existent. Milk shakes?

Absolutely! I am here. Yoo hoo! here I am! Who likes

poetry? Not me!





I love thee, mighty tree--I am mad about thy limbs

(Valery)


all artwork, except likenesses of emotions that are too powerful for puny earthlings, by Crispy Flotilla ® 2007