Ailanthus

                 Lakelight, riverlight, dusking
as the days' translations retreat—
                              Tightness begins to unravel
yet your seeds cling to samaras,
                 clothing the tree-of-winter. 
                               Not the varnished lanterns
but your leaves, lance-shaped & heart-
                scarred, giving off the odious scent.
Breakable, the final body that dries
                               from being told 
it must be its own or only
                ornament. Let it remain, then.
Let it cut cracks through sidewalks
                               & stone walls,
turn out from under bridges. Push  
                 as long as you can to.ward the sky.