When monsoon rains soaked the soil, that old tree toppled. They cut it out of the roadway, & I went out to count its rings, but found it not with hundreds of rings, but hundreds of trunks -- many no more than twigs. What a mighty tree a pile of twigs pressed together can make, & now it's gone.
the chipmunk flattens, crawling atop battlements as if to glimpse foes
plump dangling nests of baya weavers are ceaselessly revamped
the high tide island is a rocky outcrop when waters retreat
the knotty tree stretches wide to reach light -- strength from warped fibers
swollen cardinal looks like it's been gorging, but it's winter puffed
a flying fox hangs
from lush vegetation,
reaching monkey-like
sunlight splits
into searchlight sprawl,
lighting in patches
grass in winter rustles with such tight clacks; i hear its dryness
