from the other side

I want to plant trees.
All along the road we live in.
Not to save the earth.
Not to preserve the wild
within busy grey walls.
Not to fill the gaping hole
in the ozone layer.
Not to sit under the shade
of a story the world loves
to rave about.
Not for Facebook likes,
or petitions garnering tribes.

I want to plant trees.
So the two dogs
who come hanging their tongues,
looking for cars to sleep
under this scorching heat,
or the men who work
on sites and roads,
holding fire in their hands,
can rest a while;
so the cats and birds
and butterflies and worms,
have friends and enemies,
and homes to climb and fly;
so I can find a home
away from home,
for these tiny saplings
peeking out from the fold
of their mother's bosom;

yes, I want to plant trees
I can talk to and feel love,
here, from the other side.