The Trees That No-One Has Ever Written About Before
The morning barely sung,
newborn to a day of solitude
I creep through ancient forests,
among trees decrepit, vibrant,
soaring on invisible currents –
green-brown ocean dwellers
soaking up air-plankton clouds.
Dense mist envelops my calves,
the palms of my bare feet
hear a wetness of leafmould,
whilst my toes taste tart needles:
senses here are intended,
primed by twig-strained light,
by scents of all that is hidden.
Somewhere there are nests,
but – canopy proclaimed –
the birds now forage or cradle.
I look up at branches printed on the sky
and I am cracked open.