ISSUE: Summer 1994
The tiny starburst
lit fusewire
touches the trunk
and the tree turns over
dies to the last twig.
lit fusewire
touches the trunk
and the tree turns over
dies to the last twig.
This is not a sequoia
with defense systems
for everything except
axe and saw
but a hundred-foot oak.
In mid summer
every leaf browns in weeks
against white lake water
and the green green of cypress.
The tree is unstable
at once becomes danger
to a vast circumference
and the boring begins,
silent insects, the rap-tap
of woodpeckers, backward
carpenters on a listing scaffold.
And the rain revives nothing.
In the sodden wood
of lichen and Death Caps
some weak aftermath endures
tweaks the nose like candles snuffed.
