the rings of nature

does the willow or oak feel the growth of another ring, marked by a year under the sun

do the fleas know their lives are comically cut short, whirling around birds, their migration marked by the changing of the seasons?

mark this day, the sun will rise and fall tomorrow, but she may not.

feel the warmth on the sun at its fleeting

spin once more, the places you’ve been may no longer stand

mark me, mark me, mark

the faces around as they pass by, the sun rises and sets on them,

too

I can wait, I can

wait to grow into bigger shoes or bigger intentions

aspiring to stay put, while the wolds demand their march on

closing another ring on the trees, expanding skyward.