Sometimes the forest is replete with
stumps
The scattered old growth left is a
farcical costume
A seasonal fire to return the
nutrients
Would have probably been better
Instead the roots link back
The children anchoring the preserve
The ideas of a castaway fatherhood
and husband
Wanting to regrow, seeing the
chainsaws
Grinding whirl chucking splinters
Like a deranged fairy cloud seizing
hope
Like a banished plaything for a boy
too short to qualify
As the man, so much anger repressed
Wanting progression from this mouth
full of sawdust
Words blunted irrelevant as focus
diverts
To redefine family into this
transmogrified fleet of branches
Gnarled gray and brittle straining
to drink
A broken heart all the more obvious
Contemplating how to ever feel that
best friend lover again
Gazing over this bosque with a
lackluster grin
Accepting the echo of fallen trunks
and the reverberating silence
Booms every reason to believe this
pattern will continue
Because the agony is in the seed
The patterned sequence of appearance
and nature
Wanting more than anything to be
wrong
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