Sibghatallah

Two trees guard either end
of the path:
massive milkwoods who greet me
every morning on my way
[[through]] the forest, singing
salaam.

The one by the bottom boundary
grows right around the walkway
and it's taken me a full decade
to figure out that all
those different branches
come from the same trunk:
one wooden [[heart]] of the dune
that radiates fixed carbon,
storing sun[[light]] on both sides
of our flimsy little fence.

Tonight I got to share
this favourite tree and then
went walking on [[water]].

The wide horizon ringed by red;
and the [[moon]] half full;
and the incoming tide
the colour of [[peace]]
as I knelt in wet sand
with a sand plover perfectly reflected
where land meets sea so that
up and down seem the same;
and my [[soul]] sang as three
cormorants flew over in salute;
and I found one [[white]] feather,
[[not]] to be picked up, just to [[be]] seen
as pointing the way home
[[here]], where the ands go on forever.

So I came back
to this guardian tree
and it told me
how gentle our path is,
a [[secret]] forest orchid in flower,
carved outside [[time]]
in a trunk that [[remember]]s stillness
and [[will]] show you
if you simply have the courage
to reach out and ask.

Traces

• Here's where the stories live, here with the peace