I went to the woods

to read aloud

the lichen on the stones

and

the braille-bark trees;

to translate the wildflowers’

bright phrases

and

avian patterns purled

upon the air;

and

I heard,

marked by the arcs

of Sun and Moon and Stars,

Time’s Tale —

coveted, measured,

sought, and spent.

Go. Now.

Don’t wait.

Translate

the curled and tangled rootworks,

the twist of grasses,

and branches’ interweave.

Cup your ear to the Earth’s

loamy breast

and feel its steady beat

thrum through soil and stone.

Press your lips to the sky’s

expanse of wide open blue.

Reacquaint yourself.

Restore yourself.

Heal yourself.

Now.

Go.

 

— C.Birde, 5/16