Burled | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Hudson Valley; Chronogram
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Burled 

I admire our physical gifts though
I worry about you all the time.
Are you tall enough? Are you straight enough? Will you last?
I move every part of you many times, sometimes the last time, I remember your pieces.
I coax you in the morning then feed you to the monster.
On the dampest days your soul hangs on my shoulders like a low sweet cloud.
On the coldest dry days your proof pierces the sky.
I was here, I mattered, I'm moving on
I miss your evidence of me, the safety of your strength even when I don't need you. I will again but not you, another you.
Oh Woodpile I ache for you.

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