When A Tree Falls

Oh yes, it is most assuredly so,
that when a tree falls in a forest
it is heard, belying the archly
mystic questioning of that reality.
First, the attention-fixing splitting
of the air as the tree cracks
its agony loosing its trunk once
so proudly firm to the pranking
insistence of the wind gauging 
where now lies its weakest point,
well penetrated from bark to
heartwood repeatedly, mercilessly
by Pileated woodpeckers preying
on larvae deeply embedded, 
slowly draining the tree of its
living integrity, hastened by the 
voracious bird's appetite. Now,
the snag of the double-masted pine
yawns in raw appeal to the sky
as the trunk crashes in a long,
slow motion of gravitational
entropy, each successive crash
the anguished resistance of other
trees, innocent bystanders to the 
criminal assassination through
complicity of insect, bird and wind
succumbing to this force majeur
until a swath of smashed trunks,
limbs and branches, exuding the
fragrance of sweet desperation as
their life's green sap ebbs away
leaving behind stark evidence of an
unfortunate natural atrocity.