The Lone Pine


grip down through rock,
pull up from below earth's crust
molten energy
to power branches to the sky;
to pull rocks and mountains
cliffs, ridges, canyons,
into pulsing circumference,
in time with cadences of sap,
tempo of timbers,
as the tree turns in orbit
swells towards farthest horizons,
rotates around the sun
in gravitational dance with the moon,
feeling in each blade of grass
an echo of its own heartbeat,
in the soaring flight of the hawk
the curve of green leafy wings,
in the midnight star,
the silent gleam of its own
resplendent hope,
in each rock
the patience
to endure.