pls

the dead tree twists though aliveit writhes, the sky absent blueand green, mocking what used to bewhere the brush grows thick

to root around. you'll findplaced, the ground; it's dead leavesmemories of how it used to be, thoughit lingers on the earthpotentiality of dirt

or home, the monarch may call on youa palace to the vagrant floating, humming,the lanternfly invades, still—being and becoming.

Dead tree,you are quite alive to me;don't go.