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