Nothing Wrong with a Maple

Go fast, white light, go faster out of sight
The Devil does know
        how to row my boat ashore      Hallelujah
Orange juice, a swing set, the creaminess of milk fat
        But first let’s pull
                the paper’s weight
                        Let the wind blow—
                        O how I love thee
                                   thy shadowy grace
                And the moon off its hinges,
Henry David Thoreau
        Owlets      Thunder      This
                nervous blinking page
                        All the mulch
                                   I spread around
                in the ultra-black bramble     Let it not
        wash away in the very next rain
And let me,
        just the same,
                stand forever in my backyard
                        beneath a maple
                                   looking up—
        there is nothing wrong with a maple looking up—
and gape in the gap of the thoughts strewn around it
                                                                        Pleasantly,
with witchcraft, I return to what befalls    The gone white light,
                                                               the Devil as he rows
                Hairy Beard-Tongue
                                   Butter-and-Eggs
                                   Only for a moment,
                                                 then it leaves me

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