Salvation

Everything

in this forest must

collapse.

Leaf begets earth.

Fruit begets spawn.

Branches splinter.

‍

The rot of trunks

becomes peat.

The thing, its parts.

‍

Stumps become nurse

to saplings and moss.

‍

Stones are concealed

until roots and rain

unveil them again.

‍

The forest falls

and falls in on

itself, nourished by

the long memories

of what’s dead.

‍

Deeds done by dew

and the invisible.

‍

And then there is

this poem which

unearthed me on the

road to the landfill,

‍

Written with a pen

fished from the muddle

beneath the car’s seat,

‍

It lives upon an envelope,

redeemed from the

recycling bin, that

I hope

will survive to tell.