on an early morning walk
when headlights and sunlight are scare
i pass the dogwood on the next block
its branches sprawling at shoulder-height
still as night in supplication

i recall its spring blossom
the four milky petals pierced at each end
holding at their center
a cluster of marigold pistols begging to burst

but now: green leaves
wilt from heat and no rain
arcuate veins lead to branches
that lead to nodes that hold
knots of seeds seasonally shifting to red

i take a handful
pocket them like the thief that i am
and make plans to plant them in my house

image that
a tree in my house