Ask a tree how to enter
your own skin,
how to dwell in a temple of clay
while being part of the wind
embracing and unfolding…
Each breath, a dance
calling forth the morning dew.
Each year, a ring,
grown from the center
of its zikr— a remembrance
among the stars,
as bark and leaves fall away
to become fertile ground
for those yet to come.
—Lorena
(2017, Translation 2025)
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