King of Trees
It has become Methuselah
while the sweat of black sun
drips from its wooden claws
which break
timeless howling winds
Daily
the cloud people travel
beyond its barren branches
into the ages
of silence
On the furthest edges
of God’s Holy Imagination
stands the test of time
With dark sandstone
plateaus below and
High above
on it’s heavenly throne
rules the ancient
Bristlecone Pine!
March 16th, 2008 at 10:33 pm
nice poem–have you read Michael Cohen’s “A Garden of Bristlecones?” Michael taught at SUU, but back in the 90s moved to UNR.
March 17th, 2008 at 3:51 pm
No I have not… I’ll have to check it out! Thanks, Sage.