It’s as if we have an unhealthy interest in trees
Our threads pierce your roots
And those of your daughters and neighbours
You can talk freely now and share sustenance
For a fee
Since I’m milking you
While my cousins test your defences
Their spores probing for imperfections
To infiltrate their threads
And devour you alive
After a hundred years you fall
Roots upended, trunk prone
Feeling vertigo at the aberrant geometry
Panicky
Striving to self-right but without purchase
Drying out
Your life parched away
Even quietened
You are formidable
Bullet hard
Resisting
Only we can help you soften
Soften
Sink
Crumble
Fade
The reality of you
Dissolving
To a mossy impression
I wonder
During all that living
And your experiments
With the sun and the breeze
Did you ever discern
This is our farm
And you our harvest?
