The bark is rough against my face
My arms, too short, to wrap around
The girth of the god of this forest place,
Me, a few decades’-worth of meat
And fat, the tree has seen hundreds
Of seasons, through cold and heat,
Twisted by winds, it has grown
Into a giant, and I, embrace its life,
Both of us breathing, and alone…
copyright J.P.N. | Poetry, Etc., From Kanagawa, South of Tokyo, Japan
www.carllafong.blogspot.jp