Days have passed me in this green grove

where time has stopped

(or never started)

 

surely someone once sacrificed something for someone

 

or is that just the green-man myth?

perpetuated by some guy in Glastonbury

bored stiff and wearing hemp

hoping the crystals he buys mean something

 

because we all want to mean something

like me here

hiding under chrolophyll leaves

like some forest creature I have no end

or beginning

 

words we use for trees?

scientific and bland

or insanely romantic

 

did you know mistletoe was a parasite?

says a lot about our first kiss, I think.

 

cry my eyes out to a birch

weep to a willow

croak at an oak

 

don’t think they care

I’m taking my nature worship elsewhere

 

limp home

scrawling notes

 

leaves stick to me

brambles cut my ankles

 

forest therapy or

tree-filled apathy?