What’s to be done?

the bare trees
stand around milling

bending to
and conferring with
one another

shaking their heads
at the foliage
at their feet

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White Clusters

In the distance
I espy
The nodule
Tangles
Of thread-thin waves:
White clusters
Bent by stillness.

Alien Animal

On a distant planet
She imagines trees that reach the moon
And fronds of light swaying in pelagic waves
Honeycombed foxholes
Where whiskered creatures
Speak in clicks and whistles
Yet sing
With the haunting bellow of orcas