Tree Hair

Whatever gets shed
As used and worthless,
Easier to shed

Than to do something
With by resorbing—
These plum-tree catkins

Powdering the porch,
A few still hanging
From the blossomless,

Fully leafed-out tree,
Ready to be caught
And tossed by the next

Breeze to wander through—
Or limestone shells or
The feathers of birds,

Or animal fur,
Or your human hairs—
It seems like a lot

Of life’s energies
And substances go
Into producing

Single-use servings,
Clippings and peelings,
Lives’ litter life throws.