I don’t want to ask

for you to clarify the weird message 

you sent at such a weird time. 

Because I like you and I want you 

to think that I understand you already. 

But I don’t understand.

Especially not the reason why the tree keeps growing 

by the steps of the courthouse next to the ashtray. 

It keeps reaching higher for the sun

as if this is just as good as a calm orchard

without the crowds of worst-days-of-their-lives

who talk all day and spit out their gum on the sidewalk. 

Here you are growing in the tragedy of your planting

And everything you tell me means something, 

I am so sure.