Lisa Gordon offers poems constructed out of a series of couplets almost like ghazals in Moving in with the Dalai Lama. Often they, the couplets, float off and dissipate with the onrush of the next set. This one is an exception from the title poem.
The oak sawed away at this morning never held a tree house.
I could love a leaf.
I regularly misremember the line about the tree house. I invariably have the oak personified and never “hearing about a tree house”.
And so for day 1330