Monday, October 3, 2011

Poem: Splitting Indian Mound Oak

The young men we used to be would have laughed
to see the two of us now
splitting Indian mound oak in the yard by hand.
What did those two know about time
or driving the maul through the heart of the wood?
I watched you count the rings.
This oak was tall long before we showed up
it’s roots sunk deep into wisdom.