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.