The Deathbed of a Tree
I can sense the lightning winding it's clockwork
tighter, until it will strike
The core of my heartwood.
Fire will consume my limbs
scattering ashes of branches that once
shaded my compainion, the house.
It has been years since the
planting, but I am
too ancient
to recall how many.
Only the sky knows and
perhaps that is why it will
deliver its poisen tonight.
Rusty memories, soaked
into the veins
of my leaves,
like soldiers saluting
then marching away
from the line.
But they do not say
"Yes sir"
Only look at me with
looming
eyes, then evaporate into my roots
and cascade to the dirt.
The static above me is growing,
and before it let's loose its
tongue, my leaves shimmer,
waving in the gale,
goodbye.
