The Root

The past is a place

Where the tree curls its roots in a memory

The canopy dry and rustling

The branches brittle-broken

Snapped and fallen on hard earth

The roots remember, the crown forgets.

Another tree, a mile away in its own dry soil

Spreads its branches wide, remembers love lost

And love denied.

Its roots stretch for memories

And only find the dry ground.

The year passes, rain falls

The roots grow far beyond the wood

Far beyond familiarity to foreign soils

Far beyond 'beyond' itself

To where the leaf litter lies thin

And one tree stands alone

A mile away in its own dry soil

The roots touch and fumble

Recoil gently and intertwine

The roots remember what the crown forgets

The past becomes a place once again