The tissue of ancient trees,
delicate laces of limbs,
imprints of leaves and seeds
are left on the sand of the beach
And on the palm of your hand.
The world’s most evanescent forest
Is breathing ‘piano’, is smiling ‘forte’:
From the tiny swirls at your fingertips
To the notable creases along the wrists.
I am a forester
Who tries to learn how those trees grow –
In hundreds of knots,
Billions of millimetres across
I measure the shape of the tree rings
On the crest of each finger
and the distance between the lines.
Feel the fleshiness at the mounts
(the hilly areas of your palm)
and at the base of your thumbs.
I feel most rooted in their presence
knowing they have endured disasters
and flourished for at least your lifetime.