Blowdown

by Mark Thalman

In high winds and wet soil, some crash down
pulling up roots like Medusa’s hair.
Others topple under the weight of snow,
buckling, full of rot.

And those struck by lightning
or another tree on its way down
have splintered trunks, twisted and snapped
as if hit by artillery fire.

I walk the backs of these giants
which fell—exploding like thunder,
balance on each pillar, using them for bridges
through brush and over cascading streams.

Sometimes, mushrooms, half moons,
grow along their sides,
or there are holes
where a woodpecker hammered termites.

Over decades, a fir will slowly submerge
into pumice and debris...
become a home
for ants, grubs, a nest of bees.

Then there are a few mantled in moss
where seedlings sprout, sails on a ship,
and what is left gradually disappears
into the forest floor, sinking below a new horizon.