Old People

There is a forgotten family
of the forest who breathe in
rising columns from ancient trees;
a people of green secrets
who move through darkness,
who dance what it means,
leave it broken in a bathtub
beneath the stars,
wood and water and
the waning moonlight
as you come once more
to walk with me.

All around this incandescence
like some old truth in motion,
as if order really mattered…

just truth,
emotion,
and these quiet people of the trees
with their endless exploration of what is
outside ourselves,
knowing just as well
those pathless woods within,
and the wonders of our soul.

TRACE

Trapeze Swinger