A Memory of Trees

black trees

Being dead, it stood out,

its bold blood-brown

against all that green


like a wrecked and rusted

Studebaker wrapped in

mile-a-minute weeds.


His last thought was

I’ll just lie here silently

till everyone is gone.


Ashes are incense’s

sole message—incense

made from the desert’s


thorniest rare briar,

which is never green.


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