pure kneejerk
Commutative Property,
but the way
I can stand in the raw
Midwest wind
and feel I'm
so tall and yet
trifling for my size
as I'm fractionally
divided by spangles of light
and shadow on the underside
of something
which seems to
so willingly die
every Autumn
in order to outlive me
in the longrun
makes me realize:
they're a bit blander, perhaps
than the ornate gold crosses
which have hung
about the chests of good
Christians for centuries,
but it's no wonder,
where I'm from, our saviors
are the poplars.
