Consider the hemlock.
After-storm sky clears,
pale cones glisten in setting sun.
The tree stretches into the summer sky.
After-storm sky clears,
glows with a gold dispersion–
a yellow shimmering, as if air
were diffused by mustard gas.
Pale cones glisten in setting sun
Yellow-green against blue-green boughs,
dangle like beads strung for a Borgia
filled with assassin powders.
The tree stretches into summer sky,
straight and sturdy as crossroads gallows,
boughs hang, pine-tarred and feathery,
tattered examples for all passersby.
Consider the essence of hemlock,
an essence too deadly to consume,
too dangerous to contemplate.
