Log remembers tree, remembers
sky, remembers supple pulse
of sap-filled limbs, the reach
of flickering leaves, the turn
of light to sugar, breath to air.
Remembers storm, remembers
wind, the creak and crack
the snap of limbs, 
of lightning scorch and blackened bark
that crash and fall to welcome earth
to damp, to grubs, to fungal threads.
Then all that catches spark and flame
to burn until the embered heart
holds only glow, and even then
even when the ash grows cold
memory is mixed with wind,
it lifts and falls and feeds the trees
remembering.