Exhibit A (a triptych)

I.

Hold close to the bur oak, 

to the long and to the low 

branches that beckon

what hairstreak?

what duskywing?

The lilac orange, a bruise 

resting on the bark.

 

II. 

That the last of the first

should be the first of the last, should be 

a silent heralding, full of leaf

of curled rain

snows in desert homes.

Once, in spring, we couldn’t walk

without pink frogs underfoot

now only white noise, only 

soft and even ground.

 

III. 

Desperate as an orange grove

in an ice storm.

How beautiful anything

behind glass becomes

but unseen the cells expanding.

Crackshot of winter takes aim 

and maims. The heartwood splinters.