Then, as we got going together, me reciting, and the tree, as far as I could tell, improvising, some splits occurred in the body of the tree. They started slowly and imperceptibly. I didn’t recognize them as damage to the structure at first. What I thought they were was the tree adding new sounds to our reading.
But then a tremendous gap opened up in the trunk, accompanied by an ear-splitting snapping sound, as though the universe had found a way to break in two. I stopped reciting Nionc Tigo poems. I didn’t want to make things worse for the tree. But the tree didn’t stop. It kept going, like it needed the poems. It required the sound of poetry to keep its life on an even keel. How could that be?
I called to the tree. Stop it! I said. Don’t make more noise. Stop telling Nionc Tigo’s poem
