A box lies here
six sides folded inward
weak blankets of dead trees line my insides
to be used and discarded, built
for the the comforts of a sniveling little child who played in the rain.
I was once a great cedar. Tall. And would savor breath,
for I saw my brothers taken before me.
I who gave company to the wanderers, the wonderers,
the dead and the living.
Kings of air nested from my branches
as creatures below rested in my shade.
My roots held back strong waters.
And after a long life, I was cut from my heart.
Divided into these small little boxes.
Foreign words mark me.
I feel nothing anymore.
Only the nostalgia of my lost rings.
My proud inner coils of life.
As I melt into the sea…

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