The sharp taste of
eucalyptus and smog caress
above the smoothed highways.
Autumn is foretold in
twisted water drops
and spires of eucalyptus leaves.
Eucalyptus, under the vampire
sun, still phosphoresces like
algae clinging to tousled hills.
At the top of the fire
trail, a man hangs himself
from a branch of eucalyptus.
A young man slumps
against a tree, thinks of love and
counts peels of eucalyptus bark.
The city streets are laid
bare with the razing of eucalyptus
and oak,, and they still try.
Eucalyptus leaning out of
the fog reveals that we
are not simple illusions.
There is no shadow in the maple
syrup air of any
eucalyptus morning.