What Cook Knew

the naked and limbless snag
thrust silently
towards the old growth canopy silhouette
this terrestrial puncture wound
ceased growing the day
my grandmother began to lavish smiles
and yet the tree stood
the blighted chestnut
twisted and pale
a giant's horn
called upon the pale gray autumn sky
to bring the wet wind
to remove us from its company

death had long since been paid
its worth in unbounded rest
and yet the tree stood
shroud in patches of lichen
and patterned in scrawls
from countless lovestruck
and heedless
layered so thickly
the names and doting
heartshaped lines
were themselves
a wind worn woven bark

I stood there
left arm outstretched to touch
cool
hard
smooth
with countenance cast to
where there once were branches
knowing how all trees will fall
but at a pace
we have long forgotten
to understand