Shelter Awhile

        with lines borrowed from Mary Ruefle

--Christopher Citro

I'm not looking at the pines right now

because all I see are hands waving at me

and I'm not sure what that means. Yes,

I like the pines. I also like the wind.

I don't like being told what to do. I'll run

later today because I'll make myself.

It will be awful while it's happening

and I'll feel smug when I'm done.

I'll notice how the leaves look a little

different along the trail than they did

a week ago. That's how long it's been

since I last ran. Leave me alone.

We can read by the light of these

autumn full moons but it's my decision

what. A bit of winding road.

The forest has drunk itself again

and reeks of pine. The sky pale

as hospital sheets. Distant sounds

of planets like remembered arguments.

The last time I planted something

so long ago I'll plant my hands

beneath a big flat stone in the yard,

in the place a tree once stood.

I'll grow into a tree. I'll feel right for once.