Here Are Some Words We Leave for the Pine

How can you say no
Things are gained by just
The act of still life,

By a thing that stays,
That waits, that tilts, sure,
And points down the road

To where the road ends,
And fades to a point
In your line of sight,

But is not done yet?
How can you not love
The last dry pine left

In your dust? It breathes
While it breathes, and when
Done, it’s just lost breath.

The rest, world takes up,
As world will take you,
Once your breath quits dust.