Greens compete. Sometimes achieve
a standing in browns, those snarled, long-gones.
Greens inflect themselves to seem
more local, abiding of customs, native.
They claim, just by leaning, rights
to air and light, and make onlookers tilt this way,
that way, align with, feel the strain of growing.
They hold, the shadiest among them, drops
of rain long after the rain has passed.
What can move around the solid chain-
link fence, enfold, make of such an imposition
a ladder up? Greens apply themselves,
intercept phone lines, divide
the picture plane, fill space, blot houses
from view so voices must pass through their
bodies and sight be stopped. I’ve seen trees
work all summer long to wall in,
to isolate best and most wholly,
so I might say to one among many,
as if all of a sudden, “when did you get so big?”
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