All treeness is not done, no, for

Never done is treedecaedom when

Befungalina the Queen rules

The Kingdom of Decaedom.

When Black Knight Morbosum spews

Black Knot spores, Prunus willnotrot but,

Gallweakened, woodcracks until its heartrot

In the Kingdom of Decaedom.

Gallgirdlegrief. Each cherry branch

Buds no more. Wounded then fungolonized,

Detritivores are deteriordoom serving

The Kingdom of Decaedom.

But Wild Cherry revivaldies!

Bacteria, earthworms, fungiall recylefeast —

All to celebrate impermanence which is

The Kingdom of Decaedom.

Rise again, treedom! Yes, rise again,

Wild Cherry of the Wood!

O, would cherrywood

Would wood again become, ascending

From its own treedecaedom.

All to beleaf again! Yes, we must believe

The leafness of recurwood, for the Majesty

Of Greenness is never done praising

The Queendom of Decaedom.

Learn how you listen to the overthought

strained story you hear in stone, lean into

form like rain. Loosen what track you've trained your

thoughts on. Swaying's the first sound to startle

on a bridge you find yourself on. Feel fierce

wind, thunder thrashing. Strive to sense skewers

of light in sky, cut off tone of tense. Free

your form like letters without lines, free by

chiseling sound, surrender certainty

of a last note— wonder at what wanders in.