running through the forest with faces painted
like warriors of a forgotten time. you look at
me through a layer of thick burgundy red and
black and smile. the deer are used to our scent
and run past us, run with us. dirt is in our hair
and ears and eyes and little green trees begin
to grow from us. together, we become a forest,
branches and roots entangled, reaching up
towards the sky to talk and laugh with the
birds. soon a fire wraps across the frozen
northern sky and begins to burn us down, down,
down. the heat, passionate and smiling like a devil,
reduces us to a pile of hot embers and a few pine
needles, green, charred, and scattered. together
we sleep through the seasons and finally new trees
emerge from where we had died so long ago. fresh and
alive, growing higher and stronger and without sorrow.
the deer have returned and the birds nest in our long
arms. no longer is our face paint needed. no longer
is anything needed, except for you and I and the deer
and the birds and the meadows and streams and sunlight
in which we will bathe in for years and years, through
fires and storms, until we grow old and weak and our
wood rots. after we have fallen, left to lie on the
cold dirt, there will still be our home we have built.
our forest, everlasting, living, breathing. and us,
cold and faded and weak, but happy, for we are
together.
like warriors of a forgotten time. you look at
me through a layer of thick burgundy red and
black and smile. the deer are used to our scent
and run past us, run with us. dirt is in our hair
and ears and eyes and little green trees begin
to grow from us. together, we become a forest,
branches and roots entangled, reaching up
towards the sky to talk and laugh with the
birds. soon a fire wraps across the frozen
northern sky and begins to burn us down, down,
down. the heat, passionate and smiling like a devil,
reduces us to a pile of hot embers and a few pine
needles, green, charred, and scattered. together
we sleep through the seasons and finally new trees
emerge from where we had died so long ago. fresh and
alive, growing higher and stronger and without sorrow.
the deer have returned and the birds nest in our long
arms. no longer is our face paint needed. no longer
is anything needed, except for you and I and the deer
and the birds and the meadows and streams and sunlight
in which we will bathe in for years and years, through
fires and storms, until we grow old and weak and our
wood rots. after we have fallen, left to lie on the
cold dirt, there will still be our home we have built.
our forest, everlasting, living, breathing. and us,
cold and faded and weak, but happy, for we are
together.
