Song of the Cedar

The cedar stands alone: an altar

unto herself; a sentinel
amidst the asphalt, abandoned push carts and
idle cars.

Beneath her spiraling presence

and light decked boughs
(yuletide remnants)
traffic fades;
vision expands.

I touch her fibrous coat: rich

earthy tones of dark cherry, chestnut and chocolate; and
trace the cellulose strands beyond reach of human constraint.
Roots become one;
limbs entwine.

I am on the high steppe,

silence moves through me.
Above, a myriad of lights:
constellations of trust,
dance me to my centre.