These Trees Outside the Window
We replanted that tree
on a new planet,
the oak that for so long
had towered over our house on Earth,
prayed that it would take root
in this strange soil,
mop up some of our loneliness
in its spreading green arms.
But it died,
withered to nothing
in this derelict atmosphere.
We had to make do
with vegetation still unnamed,
tall spindly yellow things,
fat purple bulbs,
bright red clusters,
these things my son calls oaks
because he knows no better.
