TheTree At The End of The Street
I passed it almost every day
standing tall at the end of the street -
its massive trunk was like a stone pillar
holding up the sky with a hundred years
of history sheltered under
its vast reach. There was never
a thought it could fall.
Deep underground, a leaking sewer
had slowly slurried the earth around its roots
and loosened its grip …it let go
in last night's savage wind
and toppled over. It lay across the road
monumental in its mass.
The canopy was now ground height.
The secrets it had hidden
in the high branches were revealed -
touchable, without mystery -
tattered and insect eaten leaves,
strands of lichen matted like unwashed,
uncombed hair and branches
riddled with rot.
In its place now is empty space,
something hollowed out that before
connected the earth to sky
and gave a solid perspective
to the make and manner of things.
In such desolate spaces,
form is seeded.
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