A tree must burn to be. When summer's fellow ardor Comes, they sway up, the trees, The way that flame and flame 5 Combine in a making game When what they are is brought too near, And are pulled apart by wind Playfully alone again. A large sweet-smelling cedar 10 Held itself all summer As constant-shaped as flame, With a slow, slow burning sound Of leaves, and the settling tick Of branch that knocks on branch. 15 Where the woods blaze thickest There comes a woodsey whoosh That undoes my breath; All the leaves alloyed sun-molten. The fall will show them golden. 20 What have trees but trees To prove that inside fire might be? Trees have no effigy to burn.
From the collection "The Timid Leaper"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.