Who Rots Dogwood Blossoms

who threads the ivory needle and
embroiders leaves on twig and bough
tacks on spring buds
beneath the frosty breath
to bring the brittle branches life

who hems the winter desert
with blazing dogwood blossoms
touching magenta thimble thumb
with welcoming aroma

who rots the dogwood blossoms
to fall in a pungent splendor
leaving strung up thread-ends
blowing in the breeze

Rt. 25 (Dixie)

Dixie, my Dixie. Now.
the Soldiers never footed
           Along your swampy path.
cauterized footpath, cleaned up
for eighty-five percent
of the population
YOU scare cyclists and
          Along your swampy path
I find skid marks, plastic bits
broken mirrors introducing
your asphalt to
new strip mall frenzies.
          They shall soon be closed.
Dixie, my Dixie, Claim
back your earth, Call the trees
home. and Provide the crickets a bedded rest