Ash

Into the bark it seeps
into the sap:
the rot, the dread, the dieback
 
The old ash
sentinel of the fields
vigorous in its seedings
 
Trembles
in this chill wind
feels the future cold in the heartwood
 
The fungi
which nurture it, feed it
now turn destroyer: feed on its ringed flesh
 
I turn chill, too.
My companion
always strong, always present:
 
(My namesake of the woods)
knows now
the relentless sickness
 
While I grow old
they will die
as together we cling, root thick, to the rich earth
 
By then who knows
what greater catastrophe
will have enveloped us both in the final fate