The Carpathians - University of British Columbia

Two trees survived. You were ours.
Ghosts also lingered,
a clear bell in the air,
a finger flicked in the ear,
and smells, ghost cooking
at three in the morning,
cakes and well cured bacon;
horse piss and violets also.
The horses' bridles
remained in the crawl space,
and a strange red violet
lives in the garden,
among the white and mauve.
Kindly ghosts,
slowly fading.
You, tree, commanded all,
a dense white cloud in spring,
a loud bird haunt in summer
as we shared
your bounty with the robins.
Your branches began to crack.
Tree surgeons praised your age
as they lopped another limb
and you gave us winter's firewood.
I ached as I saw it burn.
You had become my brother,
wakening the year
with splendid regularity,
marking the lustra,
and as your essence failed
and fewer boughs bore bruit,
I felt my own heart fail.
You had become parallel
as Lowry saw his pier,
and while I watch your dying,
I know my own will follow,
and as calmly know it
as you in your dryad mind.