Buzz, growl, crack, crash –
The Ash: stripped.
Branch and limb-ripped
to blank memorial.
Bearing, uncarved,
its Totem heart.
Whispering mythic stories,
of time, of change,
of growth in rains
and winter slumbers;
then forest path
and gravel road become
street with curb appeal.
Now chunked and keeled,
imageless to ground.
Chewed to dust.
Wind silenced and earth unshaded.
December 2019
WandeRoseD 