By Steve Petersen
Standing in the desert on the edge of an ancient garden being shown a tree of dying nature
trunk and branches brown, burned by chemical abuse, neglect from tip to root a dying Palo Verde.
“This is your tree. Make it live with words and work poetic form and we shall call it ‘Poet Tree’.”
Trimmed raked pruned resolved the toxin waste
about the roots with haste. Opened up the ground.
flushed water up and down from root to all the limbs. Within a month the green returned.
Yellow flowers, bees sucked nectar from their heart. Doves, quail, a nightingale. Runners of the road soon stopped to rest at “Poet Tree”.