i am not ready for
a light-filled forest
still half aflame
i struggle to recognize it
with thinning hair
comes the chill of loss
i finger a nickel
that slaveowner’s face
riding in my pocket
like i’m lewis and clark
under red and scarlet oaks
the music of falling acorns
tick-tocking but only
at random moments
i clock in at several
caught breaths an hour
a forest can turn to coal
in the fullness of time
and those who believe in hell
can dig it up and burn it
with faith all things
acquire an airbrushed glow
but when mountains move
there’s a detachment fault
beneath which other rocks
go their own way
i sit watching
the treetops glow
in sun that they can
no longer taste
