Redwood

I knew all along
from the moment the rain filled your absence
for the first time that I heard your voice
that I would cut you down
like a redwood
But not before I climbed the trunk
and tiptoed out onto each branch
where I could see a different river spreading out
in every direction
and you’d lend me your leaves to help me descend, slow,
slow…

and dive into them
and carry myself like a echo
to their source, and taste it, and feel the temperature,
and I could see you standing there in the distance
watching over me
a beautiful tower
and I would climb back up before long
and you could fold me into your foliage again for a while.

But

I knew all along
that your roots were deep
and the ground was heavy
and the flowers were warning me
that their home was here on this surface
and they dare not go where your roots are tunneling

and I have been this tiny blue bird
all along
singing to you,
my only home,
that my instincts are truer than my will to remain
so I shed my feathers
and clapped down hard on the realization
that I am man
with an ax in my hand
and know exactly how I’ll kill you
and I do just that.

and I can feel each groove that I carve into you
for every groove from which my beak had once drawn a worm
become the grooves in my skin
and my soul
but I must cut you down
before I fall hard from your canopy

and I will pray that that same rain will come
that followed me back after the first day I heard your voice,
and will bless you
and let you grow back
a new redwood that I never knew
that I will never climb
that I will walk far from
with my little blue feathers trailing far behind

so that when the world
comes to admire you
like I had

they won’t see the ruins
of the spectacular
the endless branches
the sturdy, strong,
the veil of green,
or the empty nest
vacated
at the highest branch
where one can feel
so perfectly free