This Tree was Made for Two

(for MR, because she told me to)

She says the one she loves is

a house with no windows, a corner

of the circular moon, a piece of unmarked

cash floating through the firework scented room

after the robbers have fled the scene


She says she believes in only 27

of the saints, that their miracles

are the only ones that make sense

and why are there so many saints

and she wonders aloud sometimes

if there is a saint of grocery store

aisles at midnight or of the cart

with crooked wheels or even

of the caterpillar that looks like

a sunbeam


She says that she will always be

on the lookout for the next great

heartbreaker, the next beautiful

tree with two holes drilled through it

because someone was looking for

the other side of the sky


She says the one she loves is

riding a train around in circles,

all across the north, and that when

the train finally reaches its station,

she will be there, counting her beads,

and waiting to catch the next

elevator from the roots of a tree

to the banks of the closest planet

in the farthest galaxy from here

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