In to your wilds
Your half shadow
covered in moss,
draws me in to
your wilds.
What I don’t know
is your face at sunset,
your eyes wide
as night swallows day.
Beginnings have the charm
of the dark,
the little that is seen
illuminated by fire,
a portrait that moves
like a river hidden
by great trees.
Will sunrise bring the sight
of roots or flowers?
As I move in the
mirror of your mind
can you feel the wet earth,
can you feel the grass growing
under our soft feet?