forested canyon, sierra
nevada--we walked
among conifer columns
standing in living lithe
patience. our booted feet
landed quietly on annual
layers of pine needles,
each level a different color
of time, light tan on top,
and a darkening all the way
down to black fusion
with soil, reabsorption--
perhaps a resurrection
with water up, back up into
tree through root and cambrium,
bough, cone, seed, pollen--
or needle again, shaking
green in wind, staying
still in snow.
hans ostrom 2021
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