The Tree Omen

Falls as if the wind
Took it down
In the night it lay
Dying, taking its last
Breath, wondering
How so many things
Go wrong, the roots
Hurt as they tear
Opening up the ground
Easily, how unbearable
The signs can be
Unwarranted dramatic
Dirty tragic
All those saplings
Between her fists
Under her arms.
Contagion the wind blows
Star weather and genius
Over the lawn
Past the mud ankles
The if and when pulse
Missing pecans dried
Canary cases
The drowning books
Our fixed up years
The ready pollution
Honors those the most.