The old forest keeps me sane.
walking through worn paths
entering the membrane.
the womb of the past.

Each smell remembers me
skipping past my steps
whispering distant truths
that taste of nothingnesssssss

Letting my fingers caress
leaves and bark of old trees
the swelling in my chest
of air made of sweet canopies

The gate of the forest
on two elbows rests a chin
the keeper of my solitude
welcoming be back in.
......to real life.....