if i am anything like
the underbrush between
mountains, the thick fauna
that sprouts in the ravine
near the creek, with young
aspens and their slender
bodies nestled in rotted
trees teeming with
creatures and inks and
dyes, unburdened by
the wind that can't
reach between the
leaves, it was so
easy to get lost
in me, the
way i got
lost there
where i
could
only
hear
my
voice, all
hushed like
a whisper in
the night asking
God to deliver me.