Ed’s Tree

The catalpa, its leaves big as plates. “You could not knock it over.”

Nor ice, nor age, nor rage

but ants, a ragged line from a labial scar. A rigging rope holds 5,000 pounds. Birds and squirrels, unnested,

confused; also bees and the raccoon’s hole. Seed pods— unlike the chainsaw’s

gasoline—smell green; how much light this lets in we’ll see.