Where gone the years
or those who peopled them;
perpendicular growth,
vascular wilt,
weevils in old wounds,
when cut to the stem
streaks of black stain.
Dendrochronology reveals
years sans summers,
lengthened, bitter winters
lonely spans of dry cold hours
the pressure of decades unknown,
or only unfelt in
cross-cuts
cut downs
slights
biotic or abiotic
xylem and phloem
weakened new wood.
"I wish we could be friends
like we used to be friends."
But there is this agony
in our outer armor
there are fatal flaws
in our superstructure-
dissimilarity,
unforgivable, I guess.
Why go looking for fault?
Why must we name each other such?
Why the need to lay down
whole forests
decades of speechless, vegetative growth
where shade and animal life once?
