My Color Is The Green

My color is the green

That grows upon the side of some forgotten tree

Depths of a wood

Not trodden since

A time lost (to all of us?)

Not as such. I remember

That hollow I stumbled into

I remember that green

I remember thread-like light

Peaking

through dew drop leaves

And scenes passing by

Cars pass by

But I don’t hear them

I see the stems

My face against the soil

My eyelashes blinking out the

turmoil?

Toil?

Let gossamer sunlight dapple my face,

and send me drifting. Reckless: when I let time slip by.

I found a solace, then, in that color green.

The one that embraced me when I was keenly seeing—

Seen?

Tie together the branches,

Thread the flowers into a bracelet (Not a crown)

And make me a king!

Of this cradle canopy I will return, (But for the grace of Nature, go I)

As a servant of those relic sights

Mellow times were harsh against the eyes

And the grass sharp against my bare feet…

So wrap me in swaddles of the forest brush,

so I might rest in that color of green.

My scent is the petrichor

The fresh dew upon the forest floor

The sun that lifts the wisps from the wakening moor

The core of the fallen tree which grows new life,

Into life

Into life.

My sound is the careful breeze

The kindly roar which teems

With the words that came before

I was here.

Or not here?

Merely ghosts upon the wind which spur

no fear

Goad

no tear

from a tempered cheek.

Blessed are the meek?

I will seek

The green I have already found in that

Missing dream

It’s been misplaced!

Like the memory

That I wish I could see

Once more

Played against my eyes Like a movie against

The method actor’s screen.

Yet I will find solace, now,

In my own memory

The knowledge

The knowing

Of that green that molded me.