Clear Cut

Memories are tree stumps

What was, isn’t anymore
what was alive, now is dead
though it harbors new life;
pain, bitterness, wistfulness,
love, remembrance, regret
thrive like so much lichen

On occasion a new shoot
sprouts from the stump,
drawing its nourishment,
its potential new life, from
the decayed remains of
what had once been

While the new seedling may
grow, even thrive skyward

it will never be what was