Tree

Tree

My father is walking me by the hand
Back from Leo Weitz's grocery store
A just opened pack of Lucky Strikes
Inserted in his white shirt breast pocket
A thread of smoke flowing behind him
As we slow our walk to hear a power
Saw       Its thousand watt bee buzz to silence
Then a crack swoop to a thin quiet hiss

We look down the street       Where the maple was
Is       Well       Nothing       Splash of air       Wave of light
Billow of sound       A pillar of shadow rises
Deep from the ground       A few robins &
A single sparrow flutter circle       Each
At a higher level       As if they are
Searching for a nest
                                   My father has crushed
His cigarette under his heel — Funny
To watch dead smoke vanish — & says to me
"There are other swings Jack & other
tree houses"       "I know" I say "but it was
first base"
                                                 Later at night before sleep
I stare out the window at the tree that's
Not there that I can't see       I keep saying
"It's not there" but it seems the tree still forms
A shape       Down stairs from the porch I can smell
My father's Lucky Strike & up hill far
Beyond Weitz's grocery I can spy
The cathedral's white tower as a cloud
Passes overhead to unhide the moon