After-time of rot and strip and timber
Latent for years
Between rhythm and harmony.
Stems and roots and buds of it held dry and heavy.
All that easy growth packed-in
to safe and silent darkness.
and would it have stayed unmoved until time took will from that knot?
So even when the pacific plumed over,
once bright and green and wet,
it would not break to the second cotyledon stretch?
But an earlier rain softened the bristled hills
They stumble out over the streaming,
blinking in forgotten light-
To depth and width and breath
Roots find the old decay and plumb it, cautious –
death remembered in fibers
The highest leaves shy the summits
tamper the impulse to ascend
And so it shifts us,
in the widening of our age.