Pinecone Patriarch
some say the limbs of trees are telling chapters
a pinecedars verse in still measure.
some say a branch can speak as it splinters.
with cinders regognizable for seedling faith.
now pineconed buddha's roll around me
with secrets inclosed in thier bellies
telling me that i look like you.
those same lines round the eyes,
photosynthetic daylight seeking.
with stone marrow to fortify the roots,
structure the face and weather the brow.
twenty nine growth ringed years
past the hardened visage of you
with that bottle in your hand.
you were a pinecone patriarch
that did not germinate in me but die.
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