ROCK CREEK PARK
I came upon them in the morning
walking with my father
and his dog.
He bounded ahead
(the dog
not my father
whose bounding days are over)
mad with joy to be outside
after the storm.
And I, needing movement
ran after him, splattering mud
onto my clothes.
We came upon them in the woods
the dog and I
drawn off the trail by brightness
where before there had been shadow
as though a skylight had been fitted
into the forest ceiling.
Because of the light, I expected pleasure
and frightened the dog
with the noise that leapt out of me.
We came upon them:
trees toppled like wine glasses
the great wheels of their roots upended
trunks snapped and bowls of branches
shattered against the forest floor, all
under the sober glare of a morning-after sun.
It was their stillness
that hit me–the immobile fact
of their huge fallen lives.
I turned and staggered
into my father
mouth open
and streaming eyes.
He grasped my arms and held me
from him, calling for his dog.
Not until the animal,
oblivious, streaked past us
did he let me go.