We don't have to walk far
Under the cover of canopy
To find exposure.
Once outside the city,
Outside the usual framework,
Outside the boundaries of polite necessity,
We can truly breathe.
On the trail
I bathe in dust
And my hands converse with trees
When asking for support.
Nursing logs remind us
Where we stand
In an ancient cycle,
And we can confess anything.
Stripped down to our bare humanity.
It's the intimacy
I used to chase in pillow-talk,
But without the dance.
The trail is always a soul's journey,
Whether solo or shared.

Treasured friend, reach out your arms
And lift me up into your boughs
Share with me a memory
Here beneath the wispy clouds

Cradle me with tender sprigs and
Rock me gently in the breeze
Caress my soul with autumn dreams
And let me rest here in your peace

Deep perfume seeps still from the fallen rose Down down endlessly  
filling the air with all that is pure, and soon all that is not    
diamonds glisten upon its skin Sparkling in the summer heat, he  
knows this won't be the end

moisture condenses around his roots, the tree growing up into  
heaven, life surging around him, springing, growing, ripping  
through the thick and crusted earth. Pun i ca gra na tum is such a complex word for what here has come to pass. the roots shooting     down and spreading, their mirrors filling the sky, soaking up our  
shining beams of phantasmal brilliance.

Only those loved have names wouldn't you Agree some are special 
to the producing world, and Others are left to rot, take the fruit of a morning lily, no one loves her, yet she bears all the same

something stirs within his being, some new body grows out from  
inside, some new some new some new something new. The sky fills
with blood espousal carillon, their pods filling rich and new,  
chiming out for all to hear the dawn rising, the birds flying, yes,
hear them fly above as you watch their song paint the sky in cool
purples and blues.

Color is so trite and love is so outdated and there are those who
wish for the end of the world as well Creation falling to the Ground
as the rosebud does in winter

united in final ecstasy, the bells descend as dying mistrals unveil
our sinking crown, sound-bow dripping away

An apple fell from a tree.
Did it want to fall from that tree?
Where it was so secure and cozy,
only to hit the ground of reality.

It will never come back to that tree,
it's stems have been cut off.
It'll fend for itself,
but that's hard for an apple to do.