Forest walk

Pressing my hands onto soft, moist moss,
Filling my lungs with earthy forest air,
The sight of the dense canopy and the dancing lights
Bring a surprising sort of clarity.

Not what I expected, not what I used to long for
Not what I believed my existence - my permission thereof - depended on
Moving closer to find less - less form, more freedom
An absence of the jarring, rattling, neon-lighted questions.

Like coming home,
Tired but whole, dirt on hands and cheeks,
Not a hero, and yet cloaked in the golden light of the parting sun,
My eyes resting on the horizon.

Just a forest walk - Fall 2018