30. My Houston Tree

I have a live oak by my window,
a hundred years old or therea
bouts. I've heard it creak in
two hurricanes and almost sleep in
a lot of winters. But it keeps those
wee leaves acomin', and keeps that
dense sap aflowin'. Every night no
matter if I'm here or on the other
side of Maui, it sings me with its
nonexistent voice to sleep, this
gnarled green guardian of all our
gateways who plays no favorites
among the undead undeaf who happen
by on its comically cracked sidewalk.

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