woods

Sunlight in the field

There was a color in the woods
of the sun
threading into the plant life
and leaving soft insect trails of
grass burnt too golden
till the grass, she flew
out in a solitary vapor
of the broad open sky
of no people,
no momentum.

Slumber in the woods

Sometimes in life, you peek into a forest
And find out about the absence

Of manicured conversations, against

A sense of rudimentary—primordial

 And speechless nature

Of woods, paralytic in their growth

Of savage shrubs 

and all aloof, Off the trail

An orchid under a frozen lake.

I step-step

It thaws and derives me

From my parched roots—

I am growing away from the blood-raided corporate altars,

Changing the way I think

When a lily drops upon my navel—

 in her modest sorrow,

She takes away my hunger,

Of people and poetry.

 

Into a pitch-black pool without my spectacles, I fall

I rest

I sleep.