you have tales to tell
histories locked in your rings
tight and unreachable
but by the sawyer's cut
when the years spill out
as so much sap
and secrets
years of strife
sadness strivings
uncertain ages
and misgivings
lamentations over losses
celebrations of victories
and ages of uncertainty
locked away
in your layers
of bark safe
until the first glint
of metal on flesh
your innards
show us time
compressed into narrow spaces
thin green skins
that knew sunlight
for only a year
before night fell forever
and we count them
run our fingers across them
and marvel that
you were there
when it all happened
and yet said not a word
but were
resigned waiting
for a hand
that bore a pen
