Heartwood

(for my nephew, so he may hear someday, too)

Exposed

and gaping

an elliptical of perfect shock

in slow surprise to feel cold air

move inside

where once was protected,

a cambium womb.

In the hush of

late winter

stirs the source of life

pulsing through the woods

loud enough to hear for

those who listen

except

I don’t always remember

all presence here.

Or staccatos in the air

mohawks

and maniacal laughter

beats with great blows

to the head:

a wondrous orchestration to search within.

And in my heart

I wonder if the

same opening could be made

with song:

melody and harmony,

keeping time all the way

through the wooden layers.