Green with Giving

I can’t read, I’ve forgotten how I think
As I ride my bike down dry
winterish streets, through stony scents
of every year. Down hills past steep houses
of rock, away from this inescapable humanness and
an air of nothing
doing, cold knuckles.
Branches hanging over the street,
grasping at sidewalk people,
coddling utility lines.

In the backyard the dirt is harder,
trees are closer together than last December. I felt ashamed afterwards, having brought nothing, lumbering, more or less a beast than yesteryear
real comfortable, just real walking dust

and a barrier.
I needed and loved your brain I would think
craving to be immersed within

Her joy deepened like the Susquehanna, and
she would jump from rocks and railroad bridges, into gurgling still.