our whole life
we live among trees
but do any of us know
we are one of them?
species sprout out of the earth
not from a single source
but their own miraculous uniqueness
forged by years in unknown lands
pasturing to barrenesss
giving birth in death.
it will be years before any of our fruit comes forth.
but our senses,
to live even as we wither away,
to move through seasons that would have us become the Word we say
proclaims the righteousness of our ever-dying life.
our vocabulary grows the field.
