High up in the oak
And aspen slopes at evening
Out of the plagued house
Out of the hot valley haze
At some risk to life, limb
And undercarriage
Next to a cold stream
By a pond near the road's end
We perch for an hour
And listen to the frogs
And I notice one oak
All black gnarl and orange lichen
And am seized by the wish
To not be a cowering mammal
But something statelier
More like a sentient rock
A haunted tombstone maybe
That could remain here
In all weathers all the year
Watching how that oak holds up
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