I traverse through mud puddles

and under the dead living tree.

I hold my breath through the bees

inhabiting the Susans beneath my feet. 

The rocks shine in the bleeding sunlight,

too jagged to step on. 

The foliage splatters the sky.

It never looked after me anyways. 

Music pours into my soul like a meandering delta, 

as it pretends it’s from nature herself.

That frog hasn’t moved since I last passed;

perhaps it’s been waiting for me.

Same as it ever was, 

yet something about it feels incomplete. 

It isn’t the flora that scares me.

Perhaps I don’t know what scares me.

Now the footprints that follow me

shadow my every action.

Maybe I shouldn’t wait;

perhaps she’s doing the same. 

I guess that’s what scares me,

subconsciously or I’ve always known.

Now it feels wrong, like an odd meter.

Perhaps it’s s’posed to be that way.

Where did I go wrong?

Or has the natural cycle materialized?

Glass shatters but I’ve yet to cut myself.

Perhaps I’ll piece it back together. 

The future quakes from the ground;

having optimistic thoughts a life vest.

I want to reconnect with 

Perhaps we’ll go out for tea sometime.