pinus ponderosa
tsuga heterophylla
pseudotsuga menziesii
I flip each index card
committing their identity
common and Latin to memory
I have an urge
to hold onto a tree,
to press my face against
its puzzle-piece bark
then stretch to gather the whole forest
this land was mine
ours
all of ours
but orange-flagged branches
trampled wildflowers
wide tire tracks sunken into soil
—clues of expanding threats
tug at my unease
on familiar territory of
spring grasses and salt licks
the herd grazes
enticed by a sweet
unfamiliar scent until
snap
the trap discharges
and they fall, dust rising
cyanide in their pores
their cavities
the heart shrinks to the
measure of its actions
from the studio notebook
