Gray-barked Acacia trunks thrust through the chain link fence;
Cicadas hidden in the branches whine their high-pitched freedom song.
I wonder at the strange symmetry of wire and branch,
Remembering inspecting whelk shells at the seashore as a child,
The sound of waves hissing to infinity.
In the lot, junked cars stand in rows, heat waves shimmering off the roofs.
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