old trees strangle the city air
slowly keeping
the blue and black longer
than fingers

the invasion bombs will leave only wood splinters
and bone splinters

the wood holds more
closely the city's pulse

less mindful of what's missing

*

today in Queens the trees
were alone again

in their grids
stretching

above the power lines
but happy too because branches

tear the sky
into more pieces than a roof

*

over the side of the Hell's Gate bridge
water and wind fight
about how to raise
their children

skinny like a back alley
the moon makes reckless
ports of them all

& each one
with an angry name like
a branch snapping