after Tristan Tzara

The monocle that walked with you
Rolled off the curb
Lay still in the wet leaves

The poems fell from the trees that year
With sugar crystals in their veins
Reminiscent of summer

Those leaves that were a thousand fingers
In summer pointing this way and that
Until the road your companion got lost

Among a thousand arrows labeled this way
And I remember you used thumb and flower
No, finger, to screw that lens

To your right eye
The late blooming flower of focus became you
Leaves drifted down, until