Loss

I feel the grain of the wood

Its rich red magnificence

And I mourn anew the death of the tree

That gave life to my world.

The steps, the beds, the chairs

The Table

Defined my life, my love of the woods

Now gone

Dry disintegrated into iron seared sand

My photographs

Imprints of a past few will remember

But it was my past, my ancestors,

And as I visited them

I would wonder at their thoughts,

Their actions, their loves,

Because all that is in them

Is what led to me.