A Tension

We’re burrs, soft hooks,
Almost weightless,
Cotten pollen.
We land in mind

Like samaras
Land in gutters,
Sending up green
Where it can’t last,

But who knows, right?
Some roots dangle
From sheer cliffs, some
Words sprout from skulls.

Sit where basalt
Tumbled. Greasewood
And Gambel oaks
Hang on like death.