we are the ancient ones
rooted in the earth
heads rustling in the sky
moss growing on our trunks
on our limbs

conductors of our pulse
over this distance
this faraway
closeness

and should they fell you
I shall feed you honey
from our underground network
should you not sprout again
I shall build a hive in your trunk
buzzing with life
and should the hive desert you
leave you petrified
I shall unfurl beneath you
cradling your vintage pages