Poem from the Old Growth Forest


Rain filters through

branches of evergreen

sprinkling the needle

beds below

& meets morning sunlight

there beneath the trees

for a brief moment

the two form a bridge:

            the shadow of a turquoise towel falls blue against a gray bedroom

            wall. I love you there, as the light streaming through the window

            warms your shoulder, catches facets of your collarbone, the ridges

            of a seashell full of polished gemstones

            on a blue dresser, light blue sheets on the bed

            where all I can reach is

            impossible to hold   I’m talking about

                        the night now fallen in the forest

            between our skin

                        where I am lost among the ancient trees

            stumbling for a pathway

                        bumping up against

                                                            white pine

                                                                        white pine

                                                                                                red pine

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