I Asked to Be Lush, to Be Green

I pressed myself to the clear glass
between wanting and world.

I wanted to be lush, tropical,
excessive. To be green.

On the glass that does not exist,
small breath-clouds rose, dissolved.

A creature of water, I found myself.
Tender, still also of air.

The dry bark of trees
sequestered its hidden rising.

I told my want: patience.
I offered my want the old promise—

a tree not wet to the touch is wet to the living.