POEM: One Tree

In this land of tropical green,
there is one tree timed to north lands.
Its leaves turn red from deepest green,
and fall as if to season’s plans.

They fall not by mere ones or twos,
but in wild, fluttering masses.
Inside, it gives one the bronzy blues
to starkly feel the year’s passage.

To see sunny-side branches nude,
and know the numbered days still left
for ever-redder multitudes
who suffer time’s — and wind’s — great theft.

No land is so foreign to me
that I can’t see home in a tree.

Tree Haiku

two live oaks
stretch toward each other —
a faux hug


eucalyptus,
silver trunks glow warm
in setting sunlight


one tree field,
its canopy echoes
floating clouds


a faint smell —
the secret message of an
arboreal cabal


in tree time,
the world must unfold in
seasons — not days

POEM: Park from a Hotel Balcony

I see a canopy of trees.
Wind-rolled like undulating seas.
A strange green scene from my balcony.



Seems like such a vast expanse
of trees tossed, locked in a dance.
From sidewalk, they’re of stalwart stance.



But from here they are an ocean to me.