the thoughts thinking me
 throw a feint:
a simple letter “i”
 a bone   upon which 
 they embroider with 
  a multitude of fancy stitch
until it glistens and gleams as an “I”

the thinking thoughts
dangle  a fly on the chameleon’s
  unfurled tongue    
 disbelief suspended
anything might happen
 among the words to come
making us up as they pour forth
from t’wixt our open lips  
from finger dances  across the board

thinking “tree”
  the word as much a part of Tree
as root and trunk
 and fractaling branches  and  me
  the thought fall of leaves
 and needles 
fruit  heavy on the boughs
setting my ubiquitous omnipresent I
high in the crown   I caw  I trill  I warble
from beneath   in the shadow of foliage
I coo   I whip poor will
in winter  as wind
I make rough love
as vine  I twine 
pressing my embrace  I climb
as snow  I blanket 
the fallen seed
as lightning  as age
I strike it down

fallen amongst the seedlings
shape shifting into fungus  and moss
I begin again to grow into arboreal song

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