& be the only true filter
for the wind to run its silky fingers
through the elegant space
of your perfect undergrowth.
the might of gravity is upon us,
forcing what life and death
there may be had amongst us
to split the milky wood-life
that bends & buckles us
inside dreamy soft spoken travelled sleeps.
there is so much beauty everywhere
& the sleepy, purplish cedar
of my inmost heart
creaks along to nature so tantrically,
& so full of the green-life awakened.
& i feel so stolen
by the perpetual drama
that life seems to bleed out,
blindly & with such furious of passion.