Is it what remains
After what sustains
Has long since ceased?
That inchoate
yearning
Spiraled ‘round
what was:
A suspicion there is something
More
though still
ineffable,
something sweeter still to long for.
All those sad stumps, and snags,
and bludgeoned trunks
without dreams:
In your woods is still a
dancer
trunk extended:
Age redeemed.