The water knows
as do the bluebells,
laden with bee and seed.
The wind knows
and is trying
to tell me.
The murmuring falls
whisper more wisdom
than my mind can hold.
I embrace the ache
of volcanic spires
reaching for blue.
Like this shifting patch of speckled sun
I take my stand in, the bright
spiral of my hunger falls into itself.
I inhale the crystal
air that churns
through light
splintered pine
overwhelmed by the always
splendid taste of green.
