The sign says Greenspire Linden
It tells you the tree is hearty,
built to last in urban areas.
I’m as wild as a horse
in suburban ones.
We don’t belong here
in the middle
of impeccable lawns.
I crush the thought,
a mosquito that bit
through the protection
covering my arm.
I tell the thirsty
to please be quiet,
so I can surrender
to strength in silence.