Wake For An Alder Tree
I heard the clangorous salvo,
heard its joints pivot and shear,
the hips of thick branches crumble
as it folded into the night.
There was a fibrous unclasping.
The ground flew up
over its rebounding shadow.
This morning thigh deep
in foliage and catkins, I listen.
There are death throes, a green surf ripples,
rustling whispers.
Leafy mouths tremble. Bark lips
rattle and curl.
Vowels drum in burnt cavities.
It seems the suddenness of death takes time,
It needs a Requiem Mass of murmurs
to explain what the moment did.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2020
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