i lay awake counting my years
i have become an accountant of life segments
when i walk in the forest around here
i can leave the path and navigate by the sun
walk on a plain in all directions

this winter shall pass, and thinking of spring,
i imagine being something wild,
like a mother frequency
when i drift through these woods

i think of how chronology can make monsters out of everything
and feel a compassion growing like mycelium in the soil
sprouting up in wondrous, poisonous bulges

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