There is a soft tingle I feel When grounded Into the trees And often my favorite tree The biggest and oldest tree

But then do we count age after death? A tree is a tree is a tree until it’s not And then it’s dirt Or some other pejorative Depending on your fancy And your society’s feelings about trees

This tree, though Long dead, though it may be This tree though Its soft bark and slowly molding hardwood From its heart, so soft and gentle Once so hard and firm

Who’s to say who is the better version of itself? tree? society? Culture? You?

Life is and is and is until it’s not

Ouch, I say. this hurts my heart. Ouch, I say. I wonder about tomorrow.