Often in spaces where trees had lived and breathed,
The red tail had sat in wait,
With cocked head peering,
The gray squirrel had halted to eat,
Scratching furiously at mites
Upon his tiny ears,
The ants had marched northward,
High into mossy branched tips,
And back again, foraging.
Often I had waited beneath the shade,
Catching the small summer breeze,
Made of sounds between leaves,
And looking skyward I had seen among the
Green arms at length, a storm approaching,
Until at last the water poured,
Downward on the trunks like so much
Sweat, and ran along the roots in rivulets
Of muddy brown, down and down.
Often in space like this,
Where trees had lived and breathed,
As siblings, I sit alone and see
Only the small saplings in crowds,
Beneath same blank sky as shroud,
And rue my scattered family.