You said two words, rock
and tree
I heard, Cezanne and zen, and thought
of a hill in France
and the argument in the patisserie
didn't matter any more
I have bread
not cake
the lines on the brow of the hill
wrinkle encouragingly
beers and bears
support me now
and in Bilbao Sumi Jo
sings to her Yankee captain
from every frame in every plane
tears flow