Redwood Forest Poem by saranyan bee

In some crevice in one segment
of my brain

a desire to walk through
the redwood forest
rests,

my inclination is
from the memories of what a Pasteur
in a wayside congregation said,

“it’s very old, as old as
two thousand years,

the year in which he was born,
and tall
like he was tall amongst us mortals”.

Years later, when we walk through, really,
the Muir forest in San Francisco

we stand near the sliced section
of a felled old redwood
and photograph ourselves,

large girth,
large enough to makes us gasp,

there are markings on the piece
by the plant scientists
tracing it’s bio-history,

I peer at it’s height then on
where leaves reach each other
trees standing close to one another,
offering shade for each other’s shadow.

Where the leaves aren’t,
the sky looks at us.



Saranyan BV © September 2011