They began as a stand purposefully planted,
nurtured beyond sapling fragility then
left to survive and breed upon what might be found
along tracks of irregular rain and the trail
of the sun; grown into a motley pack, they lean
with near canine languor as if roused by hint of
distant scent or vaguely familiar voice calling;
a tableau of heartbeats falling into that chasm
of desire between yearning to shamble over
the next ridge and lure of slinking along dimly
remembered paths on the chance of being welcomed
home; Yet roots run inertia deep, entwined within
a community of illusion, sustenance
shared is not enough, the struggle to thrive beyond
only comes by sucking away resources from
those nearest, who may at one time have provided
its seed, its shelter, perhaps shared pollination
for future generations who neither receive
nor give any more consideration; reading
such dynamics into leaves of windbreak trees
I sense a loss of something in the translation
of moments, for they can but lean until they fall.