after Stephen Haley's Forest (2008)
 

 
In a forest of blue trees it's easy to feel lost.

Yet calling which way now Hansel
would be purely rhetorical; if a path leads

out of these trees it begins & ends with ourselves.
Ask instead-in this age of reality–

why shouldn't office chairs adorn a forest floor?
Confused now with appearances

fall back on familiars:
trees shaped like trees, the idea of water

spilling over glistening stones,
stars suspended beneath the ceiling

by nothing more than our faith in art.
Here, to seek concrete answers

is to target a singular truth in the arc of night.
Beyond the forest's glass cage a computer

hums its music of making & the god
of images-who never wholly sleeps-projects

anew the waiting world: a forest is beautiful,
the blue light announces, a forest

could be this, or this, or this.