Barren, plodding hours
clip the waxy blossoms
from a spindly
yellow-leaved pomegranate tree.
Only one fruit survives.
It is small
and waterless.
And arsonists
sweat and twitch and ejaculate
as their ill-intentioned campfires
possess the mountains
one thrashing
beetle-eaten tree at a time.
-M.
Advertisements
