When I walk full-footed
into nature, past the mighty subdivisions
sewn in steel and concrete
and step even further past the slabs of sidewalk
impervious to grass, I kneel.
I remove all the lasting garb
as conspirator-human and lay
my hands on the rough-hewn bark
shed by the great, looming conifers
which has fallen down back to earth again.
I confer with a lone wren, a woodcock, the mourning dove.
I breathe my pleas heavy over the smooth
belly of the lily and the fragrant shoulders
of a moonflower.
I whisper a solemn vow
into the ears of the creeping green moss who I know
are always listening. And under the silver-white gleam
from the eye of the moon
a safe darkness begins to fall.
The opalescent green of a cicada’s back throbs
as its twin tymbals quake in concert -
and I chant:
Take me amongst you,
All you good and honest things
For now and forever.
For I am not one of them.
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