Fallen Myrtle Trunk
By Stuart Cooke
Published 1 January 2021
in the temperate forests, the wet
sclerophyll forests, where the wind
moans in yourm leaves, a storm beating
in muffled drums at the entrance
to the underworld, the lands
of Gondwana, motherland of Australia,
South America, the hundreds
of years creeping, the moss about youm creeping
the growling thunder, the black sou’-wester
—by youm all this recedes, falls
like wilting springs
sclerophyll forests, where the wind
moans in yourm leaves, a storm beating
in muffled drums at the entrance
to the underworld, the lands
of Gondwana, motherland of Australia,
South America, the hundreds
of years creeping, the moss about youm creeping
the growling thunder, the black sou’-wester
—by youm all this recedes, falls
like wilting springs
aged into agelessness, less
than age, giant
fullness, monoforest
bulk
of years and slowness
hint of snake while touch crumbles
like chocolate flakes, vibration vanishes
in yourm tomb, tombing
yourm slumber rots, beachwards
a giant petrified in light
imperceptible scuttle scattered
deeply, cavern hymns at
cave hertz, yourm august
specific music, cylindrical fugue
of dark brown scales, closed soft pink
to reddish grain, edified with mountain
ash memory, guardian of closed passage
pillar of larger sky, of facts like clouds
their sky ways wending
youm known the songs of lonely places
the ways of wet and wind, youm moan
of fire, unless the flames come slowly
for yourm return to drowsy
droning, the intoning
of the wizard priests
the sough of the southern seas
youm’re the stage before the sea
the ground’s stage, for all sea-yearning
yourm limbed stances
form too slowly for change, beneath
such gestures the black flock shelters, shadowed
in yourm underside, that invisible realm
of canal venom and webbed vein
to the light youm present carpet bridge, seedling
lives held by yourm unfolding descent, dark-
plumed monarch, ebony laced
with wing, by the mountain rills
down to the parched saplings
on the shore of a receding lake
youm know too much
of that escarpment beyond, rest
pray, yourm beast prepares for return
while everything frizzes, shifts
brushed and squeeze, sway
youm remain sound-
like, a solid gradient an always
line, travelling
and unravelling through the same place
yourm skin mimics lake ripple
grooved rivulets criss-cross like thickened years
currents of stone into softer solid
edging damp, ripples merged with moss
the land’s dry, soft with moss
a surface of crawling speckleds, blood legs and
black bodies, orange-like
fruiting bodies protruding from
yourm furry, whaled bulk
moss colony, moss scape, the stick shade
of a seedling wobbles
on yourm chest flecked with sonnet, leaf voltas
their dark green, lost brilliance
then fresh reds, pinked to orange faded
ragged, triangled teeth
and fruits of three small
winged nuts, subtle flourish
of yellow-green catkins, now a mouthing
eddy where a bough broke off
airborne spores of wilt lulled by such knots
have settled on yourm wound
one branch, there, pleads help
by reaching, others
arch hardened spines around gravity’s slide
while youm host the epiphytes
while the termites elaborate
yourm runnelled intentions
while moss slowly fingers, surrounds
slowly devours these juts of twig
slowly devours its own ground
which youm perform patiently for it