To Pine

A stirring breeze arrives 'round silent pines
Beyond evergreen,
Exceptional ones from within, languishingly

Signature vanilla wafts like vinegar trails
Aloft some cruel front ligatured to memory

About facing the wind, I perceive its consequence
As my feet are bound to pebbles in this stream of consciousness
Strengthens currents to aggravate, curse my love; reprobate

For thus, practical sense informs
Elemental metaphor proves unrefined
To describe sufficiently
Such lost time
In a regular, indulgent pine

Whole gales flow through troves of silent pine
Not a needle loosened yet, trust
Should they fall with me beneath
The fine points to such depth thrust

-Gary VanConant