an overdue poem for a friend

How long

did the tree stand

stoic and strong

before the crack,

the fall, the thud,

the tearing at surrounding trees

on its way to ground?

If I knew today

was your day to fall,

would I have come

the day before

stand next to your trunk

or climb up and sit

awkwardly in your lap?

This impermanence of being

haunts, hurts and

feels so unfair.

How some trees grow

old, diseased, worn out,

ready to tumble over

before your eyes.

While others fall dead

without warning,

without an invitation

to sit together

one last time

before they fall.

8-19-22