The ground here is dark and cold, contrast to usual
California soil, and snails with intricate shells wander

till they are scooped up by small hands and relocated
to lean-tos with shag moss carpeting.

Who knows if the tree is even there, now �
our property sprawled down the hill, ending

only a few yards past the tree; by now
the land has probably been parceled out,

and the tree is a dashing coffee table in someone's
living room. But I'd like to roll down that hill

and get all grass-stained and look to see
if that grand kingdom of moss

snails and shade still exists, and sit
small and supreme at the tree's base.

2005

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