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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