The white attic rests
among dripping trees
with unrolling tunnels
and trembling luggage
around were dens
all kinds of dens
and dazzling fruit
to weary the wind
the sun would end
and we’d smoke among the trees
our wary arms
tenderly relaxed
the urn faces a tree
of unequal height
when it came I grew
moved to two rooms in town
where I reach out at night
and bat the far air
Poems by Kenward Elmslie are used by permission of The Estate of Kenward Elmslie.