3 february 2021, limburg
who cares a sand grain
only a wren
lost its dwelling and song
only a wren
can hear the pain of
the fallen resting pine
while its needle still piercing
only the squirrel feels its empty room
memory of the palpable pure pignolia
its blood stains the earth green
its scent pervasively fills the galaxy
raging cursing the metal and cement and hands
holding the electric saw barking at sky
but, the pacing dark-maned clouds
shoulder to shoulder with
the rolling cold winds
over the grief-coated meadows
won’t halt
and the earth will stoically endure it
maybe one day, if not late
we’ll be able to interpret
the dreams of trees.