--do I care that the palm trees are dying?
they aren't native, some say
reap the wages of transgression
--well then, you tall-standing travelers
who rooted yourselves in foreign soil
I know the sparrows rise
to your shaggy aeries
and shelter there
I know when the wind blows
you dance better than the aloe
and that you toss shadows
across the ground
I know that when I was younger
you grew thick around the storm-drain
cool and wet, in the stillness
and cradled the moss, and me
I know that light
glows in your fronds
and that your towering strangeness
jokes the sky
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