Last night someone cut down a tree that was three thousand years old Last night, someone cut down a tree that was three thousand years old, standing tall over the field. In the night, its pieces burned, warming the frozen men, and in the mist, the glow marked the site of its death, the same as its long life, the same as its brief bonfire. Yesterday, its shadow stretched to the distant house, crossed the creek that was not there when it first emerged. Today, a pit with dangling roots, fragments of branches and bark, marks where its powerful sap flourished through the centuries. In its crown, animals that no longer exist nested, and under its branches, infinite storms erupted. Its high arms rose from among the low clouds. Between its roots, our ancestors hid from the beasts, and later, treasures were hidden, love letters, stolen objects, and someone carved with a pocketknife words that cannot be read. Last night, someone cut down a tree that was...