Sonnet #27

However much we love to talk of history

It is a mythical irrelevance to birds and trees

What memory in wood rings tell the story

Of growth or not, and birdsongs' creed

Is not to build the blocks of time but stand

and be still on a moving branch, blustering

Where none may know their silent end

And before it comes, all songs mustering

All flowers, all blooms, all seeds hurled to ground

What use history when it can not tell the tale

Of where the eels go up the river, down

Why the salmon remember, leap and fail

When our cameras turns to sky and see the starlight

A trillion suns, all glittering down upon our fights