{for the trees}
.
Forgive us our sins,
this ripping of your skins,
your purloined pulp
our great white hope.
You promise much
in your alabaster space,
force us to face
our brightest fears;
woo us with the wild
delights of holding
some delicious new
thing
………….(sing)
…………….(sting)
between our pen-teeth.
Underneath,
your rings. Those sacred things
that boast your age.
Now peeled, a
……..(loose-leaf)
page.
We mourn your quiet loss,
but your devotion
to the c(l)ause
is appreciated.
…
In April we poem. Sorry, trees.
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