The Watcher

In the forest's heart he stands
Deep within green and red and yellowing
A small, white flower of concentration 
Blossoms in his palm.
He stands an hour upon an hour 
Unfolding time 
As leaves grow, fall, moulder.  
Over his shoulder Eternity peers
Her eyes fixed on the lichen 
Stringing his beard, the pollen 
Peppering his skin a dusky crimson.
Flowers surround him - 
Petals lap like foam about his feet 
And stamens cringe in the cold
Pale tongues withdrawing.
In the waning year the leaves
Crisp, shrink -
All the green turns brown and wan.
He stands an hour upon an hour
Unfolding time
As sun and moon swing and stars
Ride across the breach glittering.
He feels another flower begin
To widen in his hand, feels the pain
Of fuzzing green, the growing 
Perfume of things quickening.
The hand upon his shoulder -
Light as rain the touch of time 
As living being
Whose fragrance gently scents the air
And in the soft snowfall 
Powdering his feet
He is ankled into one more year 
Of growing young.
He hears the Hunter's horn 
Blow-out across the black 
And in the dormant loam
Roots begin to twitch and reach
Their crowns greeting Spring 
And girth quietly widens 
Into one more ring.

previous poem