I have come to bear witness—
to the trees, and those who look away.
I know the shape of absence,
how courage sounds when it gives up.
Keep your blindness.
I will watch everything:
each betrayal covered in sawdust,
each time you turned your face
from the weight of what is fallen.
I count the rings—
each one a year. A sparrow year.
A year of drought. A year the roots
held fast against the wind
when nothing else would.
The limbs snap clean.
Each trunk falls like the sound
of thunder.
Even the crows fall silent.
Sap bleeds down the bark—
like a scream trapped in amber.
The ants scatter like mourners
unaware of their grief.
The stars shine on empty ground.
I remember what grew here.
The wind moves through
as if nothing ever stood tall.
I carry this day like a talisman—
worn smooth—
for what is no longer here.
