The death of a tree and me.

In my backyard there’s a dying maple with dirty leaves,

at least I thought it was dirt.

After a closer look I saw green skin

spotted with illness.

How sad, I thought..

as I realized this “dirt”

isn’t something that rain and breeze can cure.

I looked at the burning between my fingers-

followed the plumes of smoke upwards

as they kissed the leaves of a healthy chokecherry above me-

I watched as the burning shed its own grey leaves-

watched them scatter on the green ground

-watched them swirl into dust

as each new breeze delicately touched everything.

Then I felt a single drop escape my eye

and tumble down my cheek- down my trunk-

and soak into the roots.

I was enjoying a beautiful summer afternoon, and after glimpsing at the sky, I started staring- like I often do- and this came out..

There's a Highway in the sky
with a great road paved with blue expanse
and the cars are made of moisture,
but these giants don't putter
they SAIL, drift, and c r e e p
in whatever path they please.

There are no red lights up there,
just green.
And in the traffic,when pavement's cluttered,
there's no honking- no exhaust-
plenty of room to breath.

There's an atlas in the sky made of dreams
and the pages are golden and red and purple.
Each of us navigates using the molten lamp that slowly sinks.

And when the power goes out above us,
there are softer lights that awaken.
And a sleepy, glowing Rock conducts our dreams
to the farthest reaches of the dark deep
and the glitter where we long to be.

My thinking's too loud for this library

My thinking's too loud for this library.
I need to go somewhere green-
a pasture- somewhere I won't be seen
for miles. Here I'll let my brain scream
as I watch the sun sink,
and just think.