CUPRESSUS

1 1 8 Y C U P R E S S U S D E B O R A H W A R R E N The cypress thrusts a black stiletto up through the rumor of cicadas, swallows the radiance out of noon and allows the ground a foot or two of shade. Sleep there, and the roots will surface, pierce your brains and suck them out – that’s what the goatherds say. I wonder what the cypress would want with human thoughts. I have thoughts enough to spare; the heavy monotone vibrato frets and simmers in the heat; I’ll lie down here and rest for an hour or so. ...