What does it mean to be a torch?
What does it mean to burn?
THE PASTOR
When my father cut the trees for the pasture
He left one tall pine in the center,
Grown close-pressed against its kin,
Canopy now too high and thin to cast any shade.
I imagine him remorseful
I imagine his respect
I imagine my mother asking to keep it.
I imagine its loneliness
I imagine how long that creature of many
has existed as one.
I wonder how many times in my life
I looked at that tree.
I wonder if it survives now,
that beacon in the grass.