Gingkos Grandfathers Old

On Gingkos grandfathers old
hang the chimes of spring,
the breathy rasp of chartreuse
fans clapping, citronsweet leaves
leaving the tree pulled, to chew on.

That juice tells me how young I am.
That juice tells me how young I am
___to be so human.
That juice tells me how large I am
___to've done so much in so little.
That juice tells me how small I am
___to've tasted no more wisdom than
___a branch in my so much in so little.
That juice tells me how small I am.

That juice tells me how small I am.

Chin up your scrawny majesty
but you can't know--won't know--
until my handpat rocks your
silverback and my humanity
turns to your soil, your soul.