all the trees 
tucking elegies
into dark wings
so few words
how much of all this
can they take?
the silence:
school bells tolling 
early death
more than one
nail holes hammered through
tree shadows
a bell tolls
in sympathy
with its age
climate change
a butterfly
a haiku yet
after successive
her sari
coiling the wormhole
of our origin
frost after noon
the scent of otherness
closes around
what is this
that seeps through the gaps
in the chant?