Issue #97

If I could read the
Grain of wood, each antique shop
Is a library

And trees outside my
Window - mysteries shrouded
In bark - their leaves just

A superficial
Identification - who
Knows what the heartwood holds.

If I measured time
In rings, I’m still a newborn,
That Dawn Redwood a

Living ancestor.
How he came down so quickly
This morning, the first

Day of fall. If I
Could read the grain of wood, see
What’s inside of you

Under the humbled
Crown, I would realize just
How little I know.

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