You told me how the trees change

down Route 2 West
and the land changes
and the light changes

the bittersweet wound thicker
round different hills and oaks with
leaves like silver
almost in the shape of hands
the light is orange and aubergine
and red, maroon, marigold
monoecious, strange
all sorts of other brick colored words with lots of Rs and Os
and pink
sounds like someplace to land
or change
warmer winters, sandstones
turning so
so slowly into glass
all herons winnowing wide mouth rivers
all walnuts and tulip trees
all the bone splinters
in the damp ground
as the soil sinters
in a place like that where
only a sorceress could have been made
only a mage or a mother
I’ll follow you
there are anemones blooming quick now
and humidity like a shawl
thick forests with thinning fields between them long years all between them
and I don't know them

better than the interstate turning so
so slowly into grass
there's room for you in there somewhere

where the light gets
all barberry purple
and uprooted
and dusk comes on fast.