when the rock flour washes away.
The ice retreats to the highest peaks.
The land
stands broken to the harness, waiting.
Then crank up the rain
find a way to disperse those heavy seeds
give it a few thousand years
and you're there:
trees, trees everywhere
branch upon trunk upon root
a monoculture with added lichen
a whole treecology of beech
with no defences and no enemies
but sun, wind, fire, flood
and time
or time equipped with an axe.