The Sun and Sky Remain Unconvinced

The moon lifts off the tree’s muddy bark, pushing through foliage, on his way home. He has been away too long, he thinks, as he moves back to position in the night sky. The moon stares at the bended tree below, shines his beams miles southbound through the canopy of tree tops. Too many nights of this and the tree begins to disintegrate.

The sun does what he can during the day, but is no match for hours of darkness, the night sky.

Under the moon’s watchful eye, the tree grows tired, dies. Her leaves turn brown, split stem from limb, settle on the floor of the forest. The tree’s trunk leans, as if taking part in a lumberjack’s tally. The moon is satisfied. The decay will provide nutrients to the soil in which it is rooted.

This, says the moon, is the privilege of dying young.

From Theory of Illumination, a chapbook of poetry by Valerie Poulin.