in south central texas
there is more than i
care to admit: mesquites
a squandery tree better
left out in the open to
face the brutal heat, to
be kindling - roots as
deep as the highest branch
wind decides the depth
each trunk casting shade
shadows in the sultry
winter. no death but our
own - i ponder as i
drive why let these
shrubs exist now that we
can plant whatever
oaks we want, when
we want. is it the resolution
to do away with what
has us most
