The Residual Site.
Whereupon the stars cast down their blacked out husks, so the
mountain lets drop what fails to hold sap.
Trees revise their histories each year, clean growth scripted in roots
weaves a branch narrative,
new leaf, new bud, story old as ash hand-dabbed by torchlight along a
steep underground seam.
Sequoyah walked among ancestors of these woods, his eyes following the
lineated in tufts of shag bark, earth verse newly translated to a
He made a travelling tongue, talking leaves that could carry a message
farther than the wind.
Ground water can sing its cold song forever, but human codes go quiet
after fading out,
after losing pitch to the ears of the young, leaving a whole turn of
mind, way of being,
with no voice in the world, no way to reveal its secret truth. The
mountain speaks for itself.