...

everything you need
is already within you
listen to your heart

a writer's prayer

a writer's prayer

is an ink-stained tree

    gliding

                forward
and back


      in the wind

the way the forest shelters

the way the forest shelters
unintentionally, unconcerned
without thanks

shelters the animals
the moss
the manic monkeys

the forest is one
made of many
like a sea
of faces only seen
as a crowd blurring

smeared then erased
leaving only fine white
chalk-dust
behind

the way the forest shelters
i cannot shelter you

i am too invested—
curious too—
attached— 

taking a lesson from the forest
i lean back 
and fall knowing
earth will catch me—

absorb me without a thought