there’s this tree at orchard’s edge
shiny-barked, with white blooms
which stood out earlier in the year,
before the locusts swallowed all,
leaves glossy green, fine-toothed,
alternate, with thorns, tiny fruits,
unique in its copse, and yet
it defies identification
as if to say, who are you to name me,
one who has turned earth and sun into
color, and height, and wood enough
to muster a mortality that will surpass
your own
my seeds will spread beneath blue sky,
always known here, known there
beyond the yard, and
beyond again, always known
never named