green bean trees

i want you to meet me under
the green bean tree. of course it doesn't
really have green beans but
its shoes look like that. i should know more
names of the plants around here.
a few years ago i tried to start learning 
how to identify trees. i got about
as far as sycamore & shagbark & then
everything started to unravel. 
the allegator bark could be any kind
of diamond puncher. if you meet me there
i'll know you think about the world like i do,
in terms of earrings. i see a good window
& i think, "that could make
a nice earrings." i see a footprint & i think
"how can i wear that from a hole
in my flesh." the tree is getting taller
so that should help you find it too.
i don't want to be cynical but it's been getting
harder & harder. these days i have
to eat sugar straight from the bag 
if i don't want to start crying. my teeth,
like a bad piano. the green bean tree,
lonely as ever. i wonder what he calls himself.
does he know his hands look like
green beans? when we finally meet here
i'm going to offer you one of my hands.
we can chop it off & hope it turns
into a butterfly. not just any old butterfly
but something tropical & grand. everything
around where i'm from is thirty minutes away.
my species. my lovers. the mountain.
that is what a valley is: a place where everyone
is reaching. the sun looks in on us
like the belly of a coin purse. i am not shiny.
neither are you. the parking meters
are having babies. it is wet outside & 
i hope the geese are headed home. 
you do not meet me & that is okay.
i did not give good instructions. you cannot expect
someone to find you when you do not
even know the name of where you are.
once my father got lost without a phone
in maryland. he called from a gas station.
my mom asked, "where are you?" he said,
"i think i am under a green bean tree."