My story is deep rivulets and currents.
Never will you know me: desert
blue and silver sand untwigged me.
I have no sap left for insects;
no pith will ooze your palm. No.
I toppled long ago and now you rest
soft meat here – talk and chew, talk, chew;
not knowing what you do.
Lay hands on me and feel my deeper scars
fleshed with aeons – dead – and yet,
like all illuminated souls,
waiting for my sea of resurrection.
Ashes to ashes and trees to sea.
ReplyDeleteSlept under the plankings of old boats on Brighton Beach back in dem day..Cool stuff I like this greatly
ReplyDeletelovely poem. takes the ordinary and turns it into something extra-ordinary.
ReplyDeleteWhen I was tree
ReplyDeleteI stood
connected
between Earth and Sky
now I am no longer a tree
but still
I walk
and connect
with Earth and Sky
everywhere
loved the imagery of your poem
the love of trees even in death
continues to give..