More on: forest

Is it possible / that your experience / is a form of joy? / Or a word for joy, / in an unspeakable / tongue.

It was the season of the prayer for rain. To condense, to cloud, to empty out, to rain. And nothing is familiar but the rain.

the forest will have broken open its green gates to allow me in and I’ll walk through the undergrowth as easily as if there had been a path there though there is nothing but bramble, briar, the scratching blackberry canes how long, I wonder, have you been waiting? I will not know you are there…