a vegetational sequence

[1] clearings enclosed by trees

are yet elementary stages,

silent embryos in the making

[2] the quiet wood you sit in

was once a sun-crushed expanse,

cut through by gusts,

a bare slope washed over by storms,

yet filling slowly with new snow,

a moor seemingly useless to seeds,

inhospitable to rodent burrows,

a place that has never been anything

but an arid plain or one that has become so,

where the mute, passing living dry up,

and the cradles of the dead rock in depth

[3] pioneering gorses and brambles came over time 

when what little of a season sufficed;

they began founding kingdoms of roots

beneath roots that no one heard,

and in the varying diameters 

of trunks, the echo of leaves

[4] they dig and blend layers

into the subconscious of the field,

and hold earth and stones together,

and scatter fluffy seeds

from their finest filaments

[5] each time the muscles of the mountain tense,

the tangle of the strong vegetable veins

cracks and the sparse wings of crickets vibrate

in rounds, loosening the links of silence

[6] the rule thus established: the death of one

barely offsets another’s strength

[7] surfacing roots taper and mime grass,

drink vaporous gradients of rain seeped

in the porous bark as the packed soil cools

[8] cold, fleeting breezes entangle themselves

in the sharp friction of well-suited shrubs,

bare resinous twigs resonate

on the face of an uncovered earth

[9] gathered for a common task, here come fieldfares

and waxwings, wild hogs, and solitary jays,

roe deer in pairs on a late strip of snow,

biting the tips of buds, breath by breath,

no louder than a leaf sprout

[10] waves of thirsty bees swarm over luminous pollen

of flickering flowers that the half-light dims,

till the outspread darkness of deciduous trees

binds the woods as one,

the constellation of leaves they are absorbed in

[11] trees advance toward the wood, uncurling their limbs,

unmoving under the aerial lintel of winds,

as migrating birds asked them to

pause their flight and miss their destination

[12] yet roots go deep into earth, trace their way to water

in silence, a regular beat in the birthplace

that defines another tree on a larger scale

for the kingdom to come

[13] fluff of long stems and leaves,

shallow ponds of endless shadow

layers, where families of ferns are bent,

where dust-bearing buds floated and sank

when no one visited them any longer

[14] cracked barks whose substance has slowly disappeared,

whose grief slid through the earth, immaterial

[15] winds refracted through random lattices

of twisted branches split and dragged

against formidable barriers of trunks

will blend the architectures of larches

with the graceful profiles of birches,

the scaled umbrellas of firs,

and the definitive vanishing points of beeches

[16] the original surface now serves as an abstract principle,

an arc of silence, a submerged layer 

on which the wood hinges


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time has moulded the stone

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