Conversation with a dying cypress

On the day before the longest night

before the earth tilts back towards sun

you walked high ground of cypress swamp

among trunks stripped bare of green

of fern, of leaf and vine

You stood and asked questions of a dying cypress

its root mound raised up on one side

as if years ago it was ready to fall

tilting towards the earth in a storm,

but rallied, defied the pull of death

and hovered in a stand of trees

and slowly curved back towards sun

You asked if roots and knees of the other cypress

saved him, kept him from falling

and if they knew what they had done

You asked if they know that when he finally falls

he will tear desperately at their roots

claw at their trunks and maybe take them

with him as he tries to save himself

You asked if he thinks the sun will miss him

lying on his side with a bright table cloth

of moss and lichen spread out on his trunk

fine dining for insects, lizards, snakes and birds

You purposely did not tell him of plans

to gather tonight with friends and burn

pieces of dead trees in a solstice fire

and dedicate this longest night

before the earth tilts back towards sun

towards kindness, peace, long life and friends

12-22-26