This week's poem

.
     OVID

     --therefore I am
     a tree. Blue peaches
     drift between
     my lazy fingers,

     in the hot sun
     a cool breeze.

     Mom, help me.
     Up to my neck
     in your body
     I'm so lonesome
     it could die--

     a cool cemetery
     breeze, I've
     always been away,

     always just returned
     unappeased
     by opposites, kinships,
     and I think

     therefore I am
     a tree. Blue patches
     drift between
     my lazy fingers,

     in the hot sun
     a cool breeze.

____________________

Robert Glück’s poem Ovid appeared in his collection entitled Reader, The Lapis Press, 1989.
Playing I suppose on the title of Ovid’s poem Metamorphoses, the lyric subject shapeshifts into a tree which sheds Matissean blue peaches on a warm sunny day in summer.

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