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Old trees, dry years, capsize –
lose their leaves and lie down
in a pillow of hollow limbs
like people on a crowded
hillside. No one notices
the squirrels move in
with ants and scorpions
rejoicing, with small birds
working the loose bark –
hawks above, snakes below
an old stump. Like literature,
they feed on it awhile
until it disappears, until
the earth digests it, until
the seedling it shaded shines!
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