A sapling springs from rotting spruce stump,
resurrected from demise to rise into sunshine.
Is there an atom or two left of the old spruce
aware of its old self while conscious of its new beginning?

I stand on stone, believing it will wear my weight,
yet Science informs me there is no material solidity,
rather galactic gaps between assumed stability.

I hear in the atomic spaces of my soul,
echos of the old spruce singing songs of welcome
to the harmonizing sapling it is becoming.