What Trees Dream About in their Prodigious Silence

Soft flesh of the earth.
Breath of sun on their leaves.
Embrace of wind in their branches.
Burning bite of the logger's blade
as it sears them to the core.

Their dreams are their lives
and their lives are a dream.
Each winter they eat the snow
that melts in their branches.
They dream-taste the ashen sky.

Appeared in Asimov's SF