sumac trees

A Poem by kmartell

decide here to stop writing "for" anyone, if others do not understand, it isn't important, i need to move closer to the fire of what i see

the real is a vision we place over the real…

did well to take it from me,
dwelling on the wrong side
rolling over, coming to terms

while the lake spreads, my chair in sheets of perspective, tick tock of clock on the noon mantle, the air, the air
voices of flight old men, grandfather, Ben, wiser when seen this way, I am old enough to have family taken…
coming down the hillside to the lake, I imagine the real way Ben’s leg bent sideways when walking

I pull the scrapping chair toward its water because the lake is a gift of lake monsters and ancient Indian bones

the boy is now coming in… his boat a crooked smile
on the water the summer storm about to rise
something hanging… plants sumac red weeping down green still motionless as the noon shadow lets go, more
contrite than the storm

less contrite hopeful of any future because
still …and yet the fear has its own shadow laid over me, given
the rest

the air as I must have seen covers and will not rest,
nothing gives rest but the vision of the trees, wind picking

up turning the leaves, the wind has a warm caress coming before they could
take it from me. the eye suspends its own watch to the trees as they begin the storm…

the boy has now tied up, his oars over one shoulder,
walking up the dock…
something in the camp rattles, the door opens the color of wet, flames of heat takes the soul toward this vision…gone…lost…done once again