Taste of Green

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.


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