Long Term Composition
Growth-clicks, my growing
fingernail drowned by fungi’s
deafening roar,
each gap and breach
a world trade attack in damp soil.
Stillness, quiet, softness – ha!
the enchantment of trolls. Liars, Thieves!
our colored flags and plastic tape will out you,
scars disguised as cuteness.
Nearby: a guitar
Spanish cedar, ebony, Indian rosewood,
steel frets oxidized to warm Spruce-heart orange,
ivory from the tusks of Africa.
Half-buried in leaves
the guitar trembles,
begging for warmth
of thigh, armpit, hands.
Then it dreams itself a stone
sequestered in roots
colonized by moss
contentedly deaf to itself.
Forests of such guitars play the trolls to sleep.
Trees listen as if to nothing
heads in the ground
legs in the sun.
The symphony plays on,
a tune of variable dimensions.
Known without being heard,
watched without understanding.
From time to time researchers appear,
stirring enchantment with flags and swords
amidst guitars and their
silent mineral dreams
