A TREE

This tree had taken root in the far side of the garden,

tall, slender, solitary—perhaps its height

betrayed a secret idea of intrusion. It never produced

either fruit or flower, only a long shadow that split the garden in two,

and a measurement not applicable to the stooped, laden trees.

Every evening, when the glorious sunset was fading,

a strange, orange bird roosted silently in its foliage

like its only fruit—a small golden bell

in a green, enormous belfry. When the tree was cut down,

this bird flew above it with small, savage cries,

describing circles in the air, describing in the sunset

the inexhaustible shape of the tree, and this small bell

rang invisibly on high, and even higher than the tree’s original height.