Let’s set the stage: a manicured college
of pure measure. The lawns roll greenly.
Circumferences of mulch surround the trees.
Reason that has devised an equation for entropy
can answer every inquiry, mightily.
The forest is a mess of holy randomness.
The warp of vines wrap spruce and pine.
The maples having poisoned other seedlings,
soar through the roof of their own making.
They are timeless and totemic (a phrase from my notebook),
except for an elder felled by sickness or wind;
we tunnel under.
Overhead soar the turkey vultures.
Although a songbird screeches “teacher
teacher” as we descend, nature
has the upper hand. Before he died,
an old man was epitaphin’
in the graveyard we’re passing.
On his headstone he got it right: It Happens.