The branches are heavy
for they have died,
they cannot lift themselves,
thick as if taxidermed,
hard to push away with the arms,
this safari to a wild dream
undreamt of on full moons,
moist from yesterday's storm,
coming from all forms of water
dried last summer,
scorched like paper.
Yet I explore its depth,
like stray cats finding rain,
escaping bath,
the path made here
for the first time,
to be followed,
brings me to losing mystery,
my own reflection in its humidity
like mirror to the self
my elders made,
yet my love remains unknown.
This dream of coming through
hounds me, like sex,
first time, the last time,
but the clearing not only clears
the woods,
it pacifies me,
exposes my body,
there is nothing else to show,
save for the fallen, the felled,
when darkness finds me
like long lost memories
of loneliness,
the trees are no longer
catching their breath,
and there is only my silence,
there is no way back.
