In Be Treen

Trembling leaves put me in the quiver,
Select me, notch me taut, send me just
Below the plate glass sky. These trees
Narrate the arc of the land, imported
Like me to stand alive, to cast cool
Images against the place where roots
Crawl beneath the zip and hum of ants
Far from the original mound, bowers
Stretching between the gray twining
Of the spit-shining oil metal burl