there are no dead things (poem)

   The plateau of green and the blue from below calls its song out to me and I'm hoping to go but my feet in their binds stay away in their cries and they grapple the ground missing refuge from clouds

   In rotting and charred I just lay while i watch as the winds sing the dance of the grass as I'm stuck as a mule lain in passing the clicks of the glacier before me a slumber for winter and melted for spring, my dry lungs cant sing

   So again as a log must admire I watch and I hope and remember the song of my leaves when the sun isn't hot in its form and mosquitos don't swarm and coolness is trying to keep warm, and it takes forever to rot but down here laying flat as the deer in their dance come along and the grass wraps around and unravels with each balanced leap that it travels it seems like her spirit is flying along like the dolphins that glide in a lost tribal song unforgotten by phantom and blue sunny light bending reeds in their length guide the wind in its wake like there's no destination and still boundless beauty she breathes, and I sit in awe of these things...

 As old and as cracked as my skin surely seems I am breathing with life and the whisping of oxygen still fills my trunk and the holes the cicadas have built bring whispers and whistles throughout as I wilt.