Double Black Diamond
(for Kim)
From below, the pines are blots
of dark against painful white. The one
you hit doesn't remember you.
It still springs from the hill at an angle,
disdains the same gravity
that failed you. Cold smoke
roils across the steep slope, coats
all the jutting needles with ice.
When the clouds boil away,
the sun strikes sparks from a hundred
identical trees. Only one broods.
I mark it with a wary eye, certain I will
recognize it again. If I had the skill
to weave among the scarred trunks,
I would skid to a stop beside your tree,
thank it for sparing your life.
ljcohen, 2006
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