Thursday, October 13, 2022


I'm sure it's 
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.