The Fig Tree

i pulled the leaf and tore it by the stem

what horror i could not speak i was unable to

breathe

the air became a sort of empty solid

my friend kept walking, as i did,

but he was elsewhere

or maybe it was me

i said halt—or whispered

awareness of what was in my hand

passed over to him,

the leaf of a fig tree, torn in half,

from the veins no liquid

realizing the dried out empty,

he looked at me without a socket behind his dried-out iris

and he screamed and he screamed