that has fallen relieved
in your welcome woods.
I held within myself many
homes and hidings for others
while I leaned upon empty air.
I stood for many years
tall and mighty, and alone
until your love felled me.
The answer, by the way, is
no, I never made a sound;
that is, until you where here.
I am poor today, but break my bark
and tap the sap that surges sweetly
from rarely open and broken me.
My branches bounty, my rent roots,
have held for far too long what I have
never tasted, though it's mine to share.
I don't care what becomes of me—
if I sink and rot or am cut and burned:
to house and to sweeten was enough.
For, as I fell before your eyes
with my trunk cracked, exposed,
you can see my fragile matter.
All my rings sing as though
they were pages of countless letters
tightly bound around my core,
all addressed to you,
your woods, and
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