DALLAS-FORT WORTH: REDBUD AND MISTLETOE
By Amy Clampitt
Terrain that from above, aboard the hurled
steel spore, appears suffused with vivid
ravelings, the highways’ mimic of veinings
underground, the fossil murk we’re all
propelled by, for whatever term: as with
magenta freshets of Texas redbud, curled
among dun oaks fed on by yellowing nuggets
of old mistletoe, the sometime passport
to sulphurous Avernus (the golden leafage
rustling in light wind), though here we hugely
deafen to the hiss of Nemesis: so turns
the wheel of change; so turns the world.
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