clearcut
She cried
cried over the hillside
bare now,
where once forest flourished.
I told her though,
how in summer
I'd seen regrowth.
Those same ancients sprung fresh from the soil,
exuberant thickets of stem and leaf
youth
drawing on venerable strength.
The roots live on.
Their twining knots
bear blueprints,
collected knowledge of all trees past
buried deep
for safe keeping.
cried over the hillside
bare now,
where once forest flourished.
I told her though,
how in summer
I'd seen regrowth.
Those same ancients sprung fresh from the soil,
exuberant thickets of stem and leaf
youth
drawing on venerable strength.
The roots live on.
Their twining knots
bear blueprints,
collected knowledge of all trees past
buried deep
for safe keeping.
RL Mosswood lurks in the depths of the Pacific Northwest rain forest, where they dabble in mostly queer mostly fiction in an attempt to add a little magic to their otherwise mundane existence. Find them on Twitter @RL_Mosswood.