The Tree Disks of Street Trees

Here and there on this globe
The mean streets still have trees,

And if you check the soil
At the feet of those trees,

As some have, you will find
The same types, more or less,

Of bugs and plants and spores
Found on all the mean streets

Of all the world—but if
You check the disks in woods

Far from towns, then each site
Has its own kinds of life.

With the sixth death has come
The great merge, far less like

The deep past than death is.
One dust ball of those types

Locked in a snarl that will
Bowl down through years to come.

Walk up to a street tree.
Chance and fate crowd your feet.