Ruled As Them

Eloquent in their aftermath the trunks
of fallen trees rot in furrows of brown
and gray, deepened by each rain, wracked by sun,
subtle wreckage without the woe of hurt

I'm a passerby who expostulates
veneer, lacquer and lack on what he sees,
calls this mist of nothing his creative 
apperception falling short of letting be

I take comfort in the fact rotting trunks
don't care, wear their beauty all unaware,
continue their process, no need of scheming
to make meaning fill the holes of what's whole

the majesty of these great trunks laid low
is that I am their subject ruled as them