Roots rise from ashen earth

Stem stretches solid into trunk

Branches thread through light

Leaves receive beams of sun

All as one.

Clouded skies gray my eyes.

I can still see the mountainline.

Past the valley now

I’ve made it so far.

What remains of us

when our bodies turn to sand?

Our essence exists forever

What we create comes close behind

Intergenerational thoughts, patterns, cultures,

Scattered plastic artifacts.