A Symmetry

The magnolia before it blooms stands bare as a statue from antiquity or a shaved puss, it flowers first then greens. A pissed off dyke climbs into the branches to be held by an ancient indifference and both were me. Yet it’s possible I am a short bald man. That I am neither a big-bosomed wide-hipped pretty nor a short bald man. An antelope, an elk, a deer on this rug, a twiggy tree. The genderless squat figure, solo, blurry, hands on hips, that repeats. A plush life of winter and summer colors of flowers alongside tight checkered bands edging the broad green center where we look for each other, a woods, a pasture, a park, a yard, a median of grass set in a concrete mold situated within a pay lot. How it feels to stand outside a house at night whose lights are on. Whose lights are on.