by Elsa Johnson

In spring you can

eat her :           green honey

and white             dripping

from fingers    toes    even

skin       is        How sweet.

But now Gleditsia’s shedding

Her honeyed skins

drift                her hoards

of gold                        wash

through our streets.

Here comes             dragon

slonch-wise

scales a-chink              fire

in his eyes                    ice

on his breath:

Mine          he says         all

mine.            In a few weeks

selfish as death               he

will burn these trees

                                    clean.