There’s a deep forest path that
lingers
just for a bit,

somewhere between stable and healthy

and in walking that path
one may find himself
growing

much like the foliage;
trees, yawning
and vines, curious, spread wild

breathing life
and air
and motion

until the path disappears
and diminishing greens
turn to sullen brown

and the desert looms

deep breaths are unyielding
motion is muddy
it doesn’t feel quite right

seeing forever isn’t as grand
when there’s not
much to see

it’s so much bigger
than the forest seemed to be,
isn’t it?