a hundred million years
they have stood silent
giant immovable forces
scarred black, lichened,
swaying in storms lost
beyond memory of any
living being except bristle-
cone pines on a distant
peak, their bent, shriveled
equal, gnarled beasts
on their stormy rocks
redwoods survive
cataclysms, continental
drift, dinosaurs— placid
in coastal fog, every few
thousand years one falls
breaking through the stand
shattering against nearby trees
and I stand close to touch
one's skin, cold and rough
implacable today, the same as
millions of other days, my touch
as a deer passing or a Juramaia
long extinct, a lightening fire
rushing by, no response needed