Great Oak

I wish this break was summer and tents were good for sleeping, perhaps I’d get lost for awhile. Perhaps I’d stand completely still and feel my arms and legs take flight in to the earth and sky. A virtual transformation of flesh to bark, feeling a rush of wind down my throat metamorphosing speech for the sweet sound of pure silence. Feeling the winds sing song through the canopy of what was once me.

I was meant to be an oak tree.

i could go on wondering, but i think i'd rather not
everything's a circle, time is never locked
if i drew a picture, and marked you as a dot
would you be revolving or has your movement stopped?

hmm poetry is lost to me.