The day I knew I’d fallen out of love,
immune to fascination of your spell,
I wasn’t rocking with the wind above,
intoxicated drinking in the smell
of forest pine. And deep underfoot,
little craving for the virgin pillow
of needles; and around my ankles, dirt …
and by the stream, only silent willows.
No more attuned to wildness in my soul—
highways and the city steal my time,
parking lots instead of forest floor
consume me. And I’m too much in my mind
to feel in my bones your gentle rhythm,
to hear and smell the perfume in your breeze,
to be seduced by stillness, and the hymns
whispered by the choir of your trees.
Will you let me love you once again—
if you can survive the savage part
of humankind that threatens you with end—
and I return, offering my heart?