On a walk, I stop to view the treeline.
Taunt with boredom and disappointment,
It serves as a mirror for my human worries.
The forest, an oasis nearly too potent,
Takes one breath in beyond my judgements
And bears me in its lungs.
At once, a release ensues,
And the winds dance into shapes
Between the bold lines of the trees’ whispered souls.
I blink and think I miss a beat,
But the forest is using my misconception
Of autonomous power as a plaything.
I let the glow filtered hazy green guide me.
The golden, viscous honey of liquid light
Drips through the treetops
And oozes onto the ground in waterfalls.
The pure energy bends yet transpires,
Illuminates the leaves,
And creates the color of self-made life.
That translucent barrier
Becomes in matrimony a medium
And moves within me.
The equal plane of bodies–houses–inhabited by only spirits
Pulses its rhythm in ribbons
And coalesces the songbirds along with the serpents.
I, among the nothing and stardust,
Kiss the universe and welcome the weeds.