A Long-Dead Tree

Why is it that the beautiful one
was the long-dead tree
overseeing the grasses?
Was it because we trespassed there
feeling only that even the moon was ours
and so the path towards it also belonged
to us?
Was it because we longed for height
for much too long, only parting through fields?
And there it remained as if it always would
as if being black and cored
were as natural as eternity
as if standing, after all this time,
was not something to be longed for but to take for granted.
We stopped our ragged breathing
to watch it and the moon
to see which one was tangled in the other
then kept at marching high and deep
our new desire the shape of a long-dead tree.

nov 28, 2010