Canopy Sunlight

How many times 
have I walked through the forest 
and never noticed 
the face 
in the fallen tree,  
the lichen draped 
like brittle hair, 
the skin 
made of centuries 
of mud 
and fungi 
long exposed 
long cracked in the sun, 
the cheekbones 
made of desiccated roots, 
palled by spider-webs 
the lace 
reaching down the chin 
to the necklace 
of discarded insect wings 
and hemlock cones 
and fir needles  
that flutter 
as the wind breathes low, 
and through the dark eye sockets,  
the disintegrating bark,  
now red powder 
and pillowy mold, 
and tiny licorice ferns 
wrapped tight around 
the brain stem, 
and atop its head 
a red huckleberry bush, 
rounded leaves wet 
with drops 
of sap 
and rain, 
growing from death, 
called forth 
by canopy sunlight.