Sap and Sediment

The neighbor’s oak came down in chunks today.

I watched the sawdust coat my windshield glass,

a fine and bone-pale powder, soft as clay,

that settled on the hood and wouldn't pass.

My shins are smooth. The jagged white-line scars

I earned by shimmying up the rough-hewn bark

have bled away beneath the light of stars

and left me grounded, waiting for the dark.

I miss the way the sap would glue my grip,

a black and stubborn soot beneath the nail,

the smell of pine on every finger tip

before my joints began to stiff and fail.