In your bleeding cross-section I count
three centuries of wooden wisdom
since that mother cone dropped
on soil no one owned.
Black bears scratched backs
against your young bark. Ohlone
passed peacefully on their path
to the waters of La Honda Creek.
In my lifetime you groaned.
Your bark filled with beetles.
Woodpeckers drilled, feasted.
Needles, whole limbs,
you shed your clothes,
stood naked. I cut your flesh.
You walloped the earth, creating a trench
two hundred feet long where you lie.
As you fell in your fury
you destroyed my tomatoes,
smashed the daffodils,
snapped a dogwood.
Better you crush my garden than my house
which did not exist nor any of this town
when you first advanced one tender green.
I want to believe the sawtooth less cruel
than another winter of storms.
All good fathers must fall.
Your children surround you,
waving, blocking the light.
My children count rings,
hands sticky with sap.
your heart against my ear
as Han Solo's son
rammed a lightsaber
through his chest
I could hear
layers of blanket, cloth, and skin
sitting next to you
on the couch
thumping loudly and steady
so let's begin
on a star searched journey
where the spaceships hovel
and the robots swivel
in a galaxy not that
far away from reality
it's like swallowing starlight
or slicing through dark trees
heavy with snow
hearing them crack-crack-crack
from a buzzing vibration
of the blue lightsaber at hand
watching the trees crash, then
clash against red
a struggle unsaid
but when I rested my head
against your slight frame
something within me
(I guess my heart was tamed.)
Bitter and better
hands frozen splatter
dancing while the world watches
shimmy off their rockets
skimming marbled surfaces
and falling into pits of
pretty red haired young men.
Bitter and better
try sulking in a corner while
the pitiless fruits rot to the stem
and virgin trees collapse with
their leaves falling straight into
a pile of complete disarray.
Bitter and better it's been lately
bringing growls for empty stomachs gone crazy
while wrinkles in young
smooth skin crease around
the edges creating a sort of
dimple or smile line that's
indecent and secret and
sort of sublime.
The air is cool.
I breathe in, and immediately
The smell of pine fills my lungs,
I breathe out,
Leaving a cool
Almost peppermint taste on my tongue.
Past the pine trees,
That stand as tall towers,
Past the deep green color that paints the dark brown branches.
I see, a once bright blue sky,
Has become a grey white shade.
All I can hear is the wind,
The soft whistle of air moving quickly past me
It pounds while doing so,
Pounds on the drums of my ears,
All of this accompanied by flecks of
The soft snowflakes landing on my skin,
Each one with its own unique shape,
I finally feel at peace.
And I loved you
Not for your hair, face, body, or talent
Nor for the mask you wore for the sinful world's malice
But because you were you and I was me
And the sun it shone so beautifully
Through the trees, on the flowers
We lie together through the hours
Whispering secrets, dreams, thoughts, and sadness
I would stay here if it drove me to madness
I'm sorry I left
But please don't go deaf
For I whisper though those trees:
"I will always be with thee"
I looked back at you like Orpheus looked at Eurydice.
I was afraid you would disappear, but you didn’t, though
the sun’s descent threatened to reduce you to a moving patch
of darkness. We didn’t expect to be out so late.
You were getting tired, and couldn’t keep up. Night hung like a
weight on your shoulders. But, I reminded you, we still had miles to go.
We had marched on forward, forgetting the way back was of equal distance.
Of the two of us, you were the more weary; this was your fault.
You insisted on running the first few miles to make up for all the times
you skipped going to gym this month. Death is around the corner, you said.
You’d like to avoid his approach for as long as you can. I tried to tell you
this wasn’t an exercise hike. It was a hike for beautiful trees of absurd hugeness,
trees that have been around since before the colonists took this land from the
Native Americans, before the Magna Carta was reluctantly signed, before Brutus
betrayed Caesar. These are trees that have seen it all, observed it calmly from their
rooted positions, the evidence of their longevity concretely present in the spirals
of their wooden bodies.
i should like to be without thought in spaces so uncoming
that i, unthinking
could wander amiss
without the downward cast of brow on brow
to that holed in moment
close like whispers in cold air
where trapped are days of high sunned earth
and tilled up clouds that move with frenzy
over vasts of unbridled
for i think
it is only without thought that I can go there as barred as i’ve been
by trees that cut and point
in accusation of the height i’ve stolen
as they’ve long forgotten those shinning gems
when i through them a captain
they forget as i
have forgotten thee