Faithful Forest, by Alberto Rios

Faithful Forest

 1.I will wait, said wood, and it did.Ten years, a hundred, a thousand, a million—It did not matter.  Time was not its measure,Not its keeper, nor its master.Wood was trees in those first days.And when wood sang, it was leaves,Which took flight and became birds.2.It is still forest here, the forest of used-to-be.Its trees are the trees of memory.Their branches—so many tongues, so many hands—They still speak a story to those who will listen.By only looking without listening, you will not hear the trees.You will see only hard stone and flattened landscape,But if you’re quiet, you will hear it.3.The leaves liked the wind, and went with it.The trees grew more leaves, but wind took them all.And then the bare trees were branches, which in their frenzyMade people think of so many ideas—Branches were lines on the paper of sky,Drawing shapes on the shifting cloudsUntil everyone agreed that they saw horses.4.Wood was also the keeper of fires.So many people lived from what wood gave them.The cousins of wood went so many placesUntil almost nobody was left—that is the wayOf so many families.  But wood was steadfastEven though it was hard from loneliness.  Still,I will wait, said wood, and it did. - Alberto Rios

Alberto Rios