An Oak Scrapes the Sky

An oak scrapes the sky
playing with the clouds between
its fingers.

But how long could it stand
without roots?
how long could it linger in
the grace of heaven without
being planted deep,
and wide,
in the earth?

I cannot experience something
which is absent,
I only experience
the holes and
residue left
inside me.

Once my favourite tree has
rotted into mulch
and moved on
all I can experience is
myself.
Is there any gift which is
greater?