in support of the efforts to protect Old Growth forests in Fairy Creek, and everywhere.
For centuries they have stood: watchtowers
of bark and branch, roots that record and
And now, again, we cut — the birds raise
the alarm, as we raze their homes to the ground.
Not logging —
What is the word for the annihilation
We would level the mountains themselves if we could,
to make houses of stone, or fuel furnaces with rock.
Each cedar is a cosmos, fractal
dimensions of life. They are
our parents: feeding sheltering teaching
absorbing our carbon sighs, clear cutting the air
so we can breathe.
Now we burn their cool shade for heat,
build our homes from the corpses,
erase their eternal memory —
so that we might write our fleeting poems.
The trees have stood so long for us —
Now we must stand up strong for them.