Saturday, September 3, 2016

foreign heart

In the rustling of deep greens
   the soft sussuration of the winds
the richness of earth after rain
   I find imprints of my devotion;

In the wilderness,
     my heart roamed, soared
wantonly left seeds in its wake
      grown entire forests of feelings

Treading again this territory
     where stones have been turned
Now I must wonder
      am I a tresspasser?

No comments:

Post a Comment