Missed

Life on the Precipice 1, Yosemite Park, photography by Franka M. Gabler (USA)

Published with permission

But there is life, means to survive.

amongst the strife of shallow graves,

where rock and masonry conjoin

to wipe from earth that little hope.

But some adapted, little root,

a guard, a carbon-capture cloud,

to hold their ground, in fortress stance,

that bulwark worn down by the rain,

drips infinite in time on place,

a torture for impregnable.

Remember well, in savage war,

the weakest triumphs in thin soil,

despite colossal taking toll,

the mighty brought down, haughty fall.

It’s hard to see where both obtain -

that massive block, as solid wall,

the whelm that hefts the lonely tree;

but so with mist that fogs our view,

for veil of tears (no vale in site),

distracts from hope, surmounting scape.

So celebrate each single tree,

a sign and symbol, history;

from mycorrhiza, canopy,

all evergreen in darkest earth.

Recall their seed needs stratify,

be frozen before germinates.

But forget not, while justice slow,

when mass knows force, then moment known,

as crib lies under rubble strewn,

may we encourage gracious, kind?

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