These storm winds
Shake needles
Falling from the sky
Piercing my heart
As they float by
Dead and ready to return
They are shed
For the earth’s magic renewal
Any my heart
A pine-needle porcupine
No longer
Absorbs them
Transmutes into
Soft fertile earth
The kind of knowing
That fruit trees
Want to grow in
The kind of dirt
Roots can take hold of
The kind of earth
That radiates fire
from its center
This needle struck heart
Torn asunder by storm
Winds
Finally finds
Full acceptance and understanding
If it’s own
Earthly origin