Naming the Trees

The jacaranda in bloom

is changing the landscape of Los Angeles

like a tagger-in-reverse: one

who says,

Enough of desecration.

Time for quiet grandeur: Make room.

And everything falls into place,

moved by devices even now still difficult

to understand. Summer is another country,

people are happier there, they mark time

not by seasons but by the ease

with which these petals nosedive

to the pavement. If we could assemble

the world as effortlessly, there would be

no need for words. Inexplicable.

But this is how we survive.

You've seen them come and go,

the beautiful, flaming ones.

In this city whose streets

no longer confuse you, renewal comes

as a matter of choice. Although

it is impossible to ascertain

its exact coordinates, home is that place

you are continually born into,

that you leave with no regret,

that grows smaller each time you return.

For Carlos Angeles