Old Trees

By the road
in the field
they stand, lifting branches

they cannot remember,
rocking shut
in the wind.

In some other world
they grew such trunks
and hurled their leaves

across the sky.
Now, empty-handed,
they wait

for the end which has been
happening for years.
Nodding off

beside telephone wires,
tethered to farmhouses,
the old trees.

-Wesley McNair