"Alder"

(original)

With merciless foot, he joins in the massacre
Of a forest full of frowning trees
Whose limbs help him forward
And whose gift helps him breathe.

Heart-shaped leaves find their way to his chest
From the watery eyes of white birches
Who astound at his doubt
That their sound escapes the thicket
When the tall fathers hold
A funeral for fallen friends
And the cries surely spoil the sleep
Of plaid-ridden loggers.

But, the music of Spring yells nearly as loud
And a 'munk on a mission moves
The blood of this traveler.
Though, to wish to be opened
While wielding a slashing sword
Will open you much wider than meant to be.