that survival
is transactional—
that every private
joke and vision,
no matter how
expensive, hard won,
or implausible,
in some sense
is cheap, since it's both
extant and available.
But that still doesn't mean
we can afford
what we need,
or that we won't get killed
on the cost
of the upkeep.
Just ask these meningitic
December trees
(although they probably
don't need to tell you)
how—precious or ubiquitous,
pragmatic or unnecessary—
there came no warranties
on their latterly defective
umbrellas of leaves.
