The Presence of Absence

This tree's bowed trunk
cradles a space filled
by air, a lacuna where another
tree once grew, till felled
by age or luck &ndash or axe.

The span of that life
is marked in the flexion of timber:
every fiber, every cell
now strains to bear the camber,
witness to the weight of influence.

Wind courses through the hollow
that forms a shadow-shape of substance,
an embouchure, channeling the breath of shades.
Just so, from our lips
stilled peacemakers are reborn.

I have a dream.