There are words in here
over a thousand years old.
They have conspired
with other creatures
and been spoken
with air
that has been inside
the leaves of trees.
These words
when spoken
are an ancient forest.
Some of the words
they say
are no longer productive.
Truth. Love.
Compassion for all beings.
Hey--
call the operators.
Haul them away to the mill.
But say--
isnšt that a trace of
human wisdom
in among those words?
And down there isnšt that a
vole digging for buried
meaning in the
decay and duff of a
culture that long ago
knew how to say, Enough--
donšt be taking
what you havenšt created
and canšt pay back.
There is blood here.
An owl is eating the vole.
There is life here.
These words are
inside the trees again.
What happens
to our words
happens to the forest.
What happens to the forest
happens
to us.
We should be cutting
lies instead of trees.