dendrite

 

how many birds in that tree? quickly

count them. . . . . thirty. one there

at the end in silhouette at the end of

branching sits, and sits, and sits,

then shifts a little on that twig,

then to another a bit down

sits. and sits. . . and sits against

the morning or with it for a little

while, before their unison decides

somehow to fly away together

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

such sound play across the dome

a robin walks across a branch

side steps, sidewise,

hops, drops, to twig

the dendrite waves

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

in winter

the pathways in the back of the mind are open

unseen; those on the left are exposed in

daylight – branches of travel, activity

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

thoughts flock to the middle zone

of the hackberry tree – swoop in

dash – settle – converge – then disperse

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

in winter, the inward turn

the limbs           the pathways visible

exposed.

a man stands on a roof

at a slant

consults pocketwatch or reader or some sort of o’meter

and is gone

and also the ladder

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

in winter

the paths of the thoughtways are visible,

exposed, and sounds set to

season, pavement, small splash, constant on hem

roof, movement

on branch

still

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

thoughts fly limb to limb

russet belly –

charcoal –   tawny–

scarlett–     sweep

carrying messages

flapping

into knot

settled among the dendrites

plump •

dash –

arc ˘

flutter

hurry

not

(such)       activity

 

 

 

 

 

 

in winter, the pathways are visible,

and the birds carry thought branch to

branch, plumped up full on dendrites

where in winter the dendrites of a single tributary

of a hackberry tree swinging suggest perhaps

the possibility that i remove never from river

to the left of the left hemisphere

at the temple, above it, outside, out the window

bird-song, conversant, fluid – in the branches

of the lucid trees; and that patter of the coffee-

maker, exhalation, hum, to the right; foot-

steps, in the aftermath of water running –

sink, tub, splosh – outside something like

dendrites, the filaments of corn-silks

draped – with creatures beaking, tweaking,

nittering staccato across the interlace –

for maybe, one thousand days.

for fifty years, or fifty-seven