It's Still Life

II.
It Remembers

touch
the cold bark.

warm resin underneath—
thick as a century’s worth
of swallowed thunder.

the tree does not speak.
it remembers.

press your ear
to its black veins
and hear the hum
of a thousand moons

pumping like slow syrup
up the spine
of the world.

this is where time folds:

the mist at your knees
is the same mist
that once licked
the ankles of wolves

who wore your name
in their teeth.

the light is not light—
it’s the afterglow
of every what if
you ever whispered
to the dark.

stay
until the moon
peels itself from the sky

and sticks to your ribs
like a second skin.

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PAD (Poem-a-Day Challenge) Day 11 with Prompt: Nature. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025 All Mischief Reserved.