Since the civilizing process began most of us came to breathe by decree and not in the grace of our mothers
my grandfather came to me in a dream and held my hand with his calloused fingers to remind me I had not, in fact, crawled from a crack in the earth but belonged here
and some who don the thread of peasantry
and all presume to claim false fatherhood
It’s a slow rot—
A decay with many geneses.
There are so many pinpricks
where life seeps
Suddenly the trees are tinged with flame.
The green is burning at the corners
like a blade of grass withering beneath a light-directing lens.