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