Renee Writes

does the tree know, when the stems seal off
and the leaves fall away
and the sap retreats to its silent core,
does it rest in the peaceful knowledge that it will survive to see another spring, a new version of itself?

do the flowers know which of them
we call perennial, blessed with
a magical destiny to return,
and which get but one short life,
doomed to end forever with the first frost?

when the salmon has plowed through
the current, defying the flow of water and time,
does it know there will be no return trip?
lying tired in the creek bed shallows,
does it pray for more time?

does the horned tomato worm,
fed and full and pulling the blanket cocoon
tight around, assume this is a final sleep?
does it know there will be more,
glorious more?

when I feel my days growing short,
will I yearn to know if I get another season?
will I search every philosophy and dogma men have created for some absolute and therefore impossible
reassurance? will I throw aside my casual acceptance of the unknowable and desperately plead: please tell me: will there be more?