Forest grew without paths
an open bed of roses
a sleepy place for a mess

There was wind
(not stagnant yellow stale
air
that does not free a lung)
and my chest heaved
and my heart was light

I laughed a bit
as a drift wood tripped me
and that crooked
willow tree
scratched my back

I did not think of a similar
branch
that had whipped me
and I did not think of
a broken knee
or the swollen eye
(but now I do)

Something swam through
held my hand
swiftly caressed
and sighed
Those ghosts finally rested
in order to catch the breeze.

April 2nd 2007