The soil is mean here,

reluctant to give -

'More?' it asks, appalled,

'You want more?'

Lacking in humus,

it stretches lips thin,

denies tonguing taproot;

so roots dendrite,

journey out

like copper pipes -

shallow-entrenched

though snorkelling frequent,

breaking surface,

mole-curious

while great mast-trunk -

Gulliver-tethered, fast

by puny rootlets

sways ominous

in tyrannous wind,

Russian rouletting,

soil heaving beneath,

continental shelf lifting,

muttering, creaking

as if Leviathans

floe-trapped beneath,

butted, desperate

for breath,

where will it end?