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.