Floating on a covert mist: 
blood-runes 
microscopic elves carved from within 
tree-skins human-mind-thin. 
Shed etchings scatter 
to make room for future generations. 
The elder decomposes 
all wisdom with his corpse, 
save the nine slivers for those mortals 
who roam to find a wanderer’s truth. 

Non-finalist entry in this contest: https://allpoetry.com/contest/2830958-National-Poetry-Month-April-11th-noguest