They’re casting for the role of forest poet
I wanna play the part
weaving words like vines
that look into the face of love and fear
among the redwood trees
it’s only slightly mad
not on any high school
career-planning curriculum
college major quiz
or drop-down menu
I wanna play the part
of the forest poet
have morning tea
with animal allies
and titillating conversations
with flowing creeks
Notice how the light
and shadow dance together
playing tricks
on the leaves of
unfurling ferns
compose poems
as medicine
for a world caught up
a bit strange
they say
stranger than sports fans rioting
black friday madness
or making gas-powered leaf-blowers,
landmines,
or little plastic scented trees for cars?
so let others play the part of
politician, programmer,
engineer, janitor,
office manager, military officer,
designer, carpenter,
athlete, mailman,
gadget-maker.
They’ve all got their place.
It’s just that I wanna play the part
of the forest poet
I wonder, is it needed any less?
Tiny poems of love to redwoods, creeks, fungi, and the exquisite essence of the forest. I kicked off 2016 with a week in the woods.
