Should I succumb to the forest?
Let the moss
creep over ribs and settle in hollows
Let her leave an effervescent trail,
when the dew settles.

Or when the rain falls
Should I?
Let her water reach its fingers into valleys
As the level rises
With nothing left to restrain it
Until it gushes forth.

As the mist settles again before the heat of the afternoon
The forest reminds its own
She cannot be had
But continues to beckon.

The dew will settle

And the rain will come

It’s been six years
And I still don’t know what I want
This could be all I ever wanted
(This is all I ever wanted)

At this point what am I asking for
I’ve hoped, deluded, prayed (when I don’t know where the words go)
Nowhere.

Assume everything always works out for me
(“I’m so lucky” the chorus sings)
Give where I shouldn’t be giving
Never take stuff at face value

Take a crumb and feast off it for weeks,
a banquet,
work a miracle!
Maybe it’ll turn out different this time
(I hope to god it will)

But
I’m an unreliable narrator
I don’t want to ask the hard questions
I don’t have answers for you
I don’t even have answers for myself

I’ll turn a blind eye to prophetic dreams
Then say I didn’t see it coming

So I’ll get another job
(work myself to death)
And in another six months I’ll do this again

This is less fun now
(it’s not)

I scrolled tumblr in the 2010s
Stuffing my gums with the pictures and prose
Guzzling gifsets until they needed to pump my stomach
Eyes bloodshot
Couldn’t stop yawning
(You know that’s a sign of heart failure)

I can’t end up like her
You thought you were dying once
(That was last month)
Holding your breath to see if your heart would slow

But twelve years later
No smarter
Still scrounging for stories on forums
Like I’ll feel that again
Are they less relatable now?

I should be letting go of the log
I’m over it now
(Don’t think about how this never goes away)
The pulsing behind my ears will cease by 9am

Limbs
Words tangled up
Like I’m speaking yours back to you
Through a sieve
Only half of them reach you

Perhaps it got lost halfway down your throat,
my words too

Did I walk into a diner,
spread myself across the counter like the black forest cake in the display case?
Condensation pooling on the inside of the glass
It’s too hot in here

Too much too soon?
Was it
Something
Toothachingly sweet after an indulgent meal
Leaving you feeling sluggish and apathetic

I must know,
But first, to steel my stomach and white-knuckle the last dregs of this feeling

The cat’s got my tongue and given it to the raven
Now, how to get him to free it…

She moves down the path
Sure but careful
Pausing to drink from the stream
Lapping greedily as if it never fully quenches her thirst

And as the doe eyed creature makes its way into the clearing
Unsure but terribly trusting
She flashes her fangs at it
The fawn rears its legs and freezes before fleeing
Understanding she’s as old as the forest itself

She hastily retreats back through the trees
Embarrassed at her showing of animalistic urges
To her castle

Where a young traveler seeks employment in the fields
And the grapes hang plump, expectantly on their vines
Like lilac blossoms waiting to be harvested at their peak

Which she will come to realize the traveler smells like,
Among other more carnal pleasures

The harvest would be crushed tomorrow
The juice extracted, flowing, red
Until all that remains is a purple hull

She leaves only the skin of the fruit
To be discarded

Nature has no master
But neither does she
Perhaps it is a futile endeavor which men have attempted for centuries to no avail,

To gather her water
To fight against a stone fence as it returns to the earth
Or keep drought from ravaging crops

Can she be had?
To tame her would be a self ruining task
As destructive to the settled as the settlor

Can nature be courted?
Gifted crowns of daisies and garlands of lilac
From her own bounty springs forth more and more
What is there to give to a source of such abundance

But her winter is ruthless!
Taking the young from the flock
Sweetness cannot exist without the bite
That dull void she harbors within

And when summer comes,
She leaves sweat trailed amongst the harvest
With golden wheat stalks strewn about

To tame the wheel of seasons would be futile
Those who came before were swept along clinging to her spokes

So, does she appreciate hesitation?
The willingness to relinquish control
The embracing of uncertainty

Or will she carry on
in her infinite self-assured
forward momentum
Awaiting the next