Tucked between my opened pages,
a redbud leaf. Crisp as a poppadom, disc-flat
like an ancient map of the earth.
What park or garden it came from
I could not tell; nor whether it was plucked or fell.
All that is unremembered now.
Held in the gaze of my mind’s eye
gently spreading boughs, like undrawn sidearms, weep
pink blooms direct from dark gouged bark.
Its need for water slight, new life
springs from old wood, sap rising unseen year on year
making most of drought resistance.
When treachery stalks the streets
remorseless, this canopy is bold, defiant.
Shelter where all may hang their love.
i. 2026
