By the time of the fresh green pine. The trees.
They stood in their full spring. In their tender
Branches. They reached straight up as if pulling
Some unseen mark. The years of new growth seen
Only with time to look. Both the new green
And the two men in dark suits. Of man. Birds
And eggs. Frogs. Mice. Rats. And snakes. Existence
Pulled out of their jacket pockets. Hidden
In plain sight. Circumcision. Prayer times. Day.
The sharp black and green parallel lines. Black
Copies of playboys. Off the top of my
Head, they don’t exist in nature. But they
State, come with us, the black and green of life
Your eyes can only pick out when it moves.
therichardbraxton 