there hasn’t been change or sleep here for a long time,
the grassy cave is open as anyhting you could scream or sleep about
there’s a good curve inside, like all of the moss has agreed
with each other
which way to go, and to leave something open, for you to come in
it’s nothing special, and I’ve only been back two days, but you go along
the riverside path
past the park
and the green opens up a little more, and thusly
a little more happens you see, as I’m sure you would imagine, you take
a left from the path winding up to the birdge and step into the country of single edged trees;
there’s enough history in this hanging enclosier to let you do anything, but alone, you
do the normal things, you think about love and your heroes, and the opposites;
you’re covered by most of it by the over hanging trees where they grow together
in an over hanging swarm. and you work it all out.
you laugh like a human being, forgetting that
cues are normally needed for such things, you’d cry like the sentiments of the green
if they wern’t so abundant and still.
you’d ask each of their individual names if it
wasn’t so obvious that they wren’t already around you, and surrounded you
like peacful movements of song and age;
of course giving you the choice to see them like this
if you wish
or not.