Stumpy masses
of twitching atoms
all look alike
from the microscopic stew,

but from up here
they look like trees

with opinions about the audacity
of their neighbors’ garments
or dance routines
spilling into the street
during witching hour
every third Tuesday–satisfied?

It’s all a pack of rumors,
disconnected from the shallow
root systems and designed
to rot away after a few years,
transient, lost by nature.