The trees have sex,
Tohu Bohu
Chaos in a green light.
Alone again.
How alone I twist
at the end of thought
when illness is forgot
and the speaker

is punched on the bark
on the soft models.
The old abbot looked at us and laughed.
He loved electronic gadgets for his tomb.
You were as beautiful

as six almonds
as beautiful as
the naked foot
of the messenger of peace.

You sat in a corner of the page.

More Poems by David Shapiro