Before the last tree falls
I believe in its ordinary sound

the gasses release
in the crackling of its timber

the unputdownable odor
of its thick resin and radiating ember

I have not seen you for decades
and yet I believe you exist

the measurable meaning is cinder
memory lost is faint yet there to be lit

the axe of observation beheads existence
I do not sense therefor it is not

—animasuri’23