At times it requires solitude
To come back home
As a soul child of mother Earth
To be reminded of one’s Self
By the rhythms of the river
And the various shades of green peering into the forests depths
The feeling with eyes closed
Of the pleasurable sensation
Of one’s own pulsing
And calling back she who left
With the world’s furious currents
Now there are just leaves
And soil, sky, and a quiet spaciousness
When the trying finally ceases to be
Because there’s nothing left to be
No one for whom to be someone
I feel as honest as a child
Now there are just leaves