Bum yn lliaws rith
Kyn bum kisgyfrith.
In the battle of the trees
you were the hospice tent
but you would cover the fallen
in your leaves and they would
change into new so terminal
had this whole different fear
attached to it one of remoteness
and now the world is full of
selfish redwoods and firs
crowding the blue air with foliage
of sunglass convergence but you
you are charmed how you work
the changes to prepare the dead
for their new lives I can’t wait to die
we are so much alike
The natural dream: I arrive by plane but I love
boats, the Southern winters
are to blue crows. It’s for stolen ivory
my boy is dying. So fast.
We’re the lucky ones, to have so much
parallel kismet. Your pessimism is what awakens the elephants.
The more homes we target the homelier we’ll be