they pay to kiss your feet

since there's no one else around, we let our hair grow long and forget all we used to know. then our skin gets thicker from living out in the snow.

Friday, May 18, 2007


the melody of a fallen tree
is delicate
leaves still affected by the breeze
limbs outstretched
trunk strong, but not tall
roots profound, but not entrenched

it exists where it fell
as it’s covered in moss and dew
and cleansed by rain

falling is something different entirely
it’s vibration vibrato
perceived danger
crushing anything in its path
— and it’s beautiful
the falling
because nothing, nothing
can stop it
as it bends and breaks
and staggers toward solid ground

a landing that seems
new and green
like spring
promises of nothing
and everything
all wrapped up in a hillside
or meadow
or in that last patch of winter snow

and the impression the tree makes in the soft ground
is glory and splendor
and as it penetrates through,
it’s clear
that while its impression may fade
the ground never forgets
the moment it felt the falling


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