growth

I. 6×6, With Reference to Rain

A tree is falling down
somewhere, always – the bark
perhaps shed – no matter
whatever the state – all
trees fall at some time – or
decay takes them slowly

the point is – all that noise
all that lost feeling calls
out louder than grass growth
louder than the mushroom’s
creaking love of all life
ingesting – and bright plants

– they swarm in a dancing
wind and send small sermons
out from damp petals – out
in the clouded darkness
out in the beading rain
every single gold day.

There are arguments made –
witness the ant’s rebuke
to the flat earth’s respite
witness the air breathing
the whole flotilla in
and with a breath again

this shout of all star-fall.
Billion years refute still
longer still years – it’s mad
considering the dark
to look at this strong joy
at all this kerfuffle

A plane beams – a car moans
a shed settles – notice;
while all this can be changed
there is still the moment
when you unwrap a gift
hear the rain’s soft shuffling

The Forest

The Tree says “Down! – you
seeds and sapling usurpers
“I am the root and I the purpose
“know my bark, it keeps me strong.”
and murders them with shadows long.

The saplings and the seeds chant –
“Up! – the republic of growth
“of branching ideas, and new things here below
“until the wood is filled with variety
“old bark can stay – but we’ll have our society.”

Some hope to spark, to get underway
the fire, the ashes, it tends to gestate
grand ideas of a sunlit glade –
though dappled light seems the best some can await –

Born as they are with stunted branch
or lack of structured niche or dance –
they tend to fall back on the law of the light –
that when shadow is cast, those in shadow must fight.

Either starving dark among the shoots
or taking as model the climbing vine
or cutting the old bark down to size
or grouping and starving the heartless old roots
to scatter light out from the leaves of the few.