I don't cut my hair any more
I listen for leaves sprouting from me,
The forest plants wood into my heart
I stretch my arms skywards
to stay here forever
The nails sink themselves
into the realm of Mother Earth
Already my skin bends and breaks
I have digested a lot of sand and stones
that I have become tired
A tree with beetles in my face
with moss in my hair
My skin as hard as stone
The wind flows through my fingers
Was it yesterday? Was it today?
All winter long I do not wake
A woodpecker knocks on my skullcap
and hopes for rich spoils
My head becomes green, the summer comes
with drops of dew and rain
A tremor goes through my trunk
I hear them already, they're coming
the men with the saws
A tree with beetles in my face
with moss in my hair
My skin as hard as stone