There, right there

on the living room floor

lays the last of an

old growth forest.

 

Hemlock, military- tight straight grain

that never again will smell

the rain, the hungry draped mosses,

the first sun of summer solstice.

 

Even horizontal with death,

this wood listens, still misses the

flowery haze of

bird song.

 

J. Pratt-Walter

6/22/2019