Is not built
of thick trunks & board-feet.
It yields. Or fractures.
It's a cavern of shadow,
luminous brown, chestnut
or oak, mahogany
red. It rots
into itself. Can be made
orderly. Yet prefers its own
stories: canopy, under
layer, roots coiled like fiddleheads.
It tends other gardens
with shreds of its skin.
Its secret is bending, is also
refusal to bend.
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