at the heart of a hike
another cup of tea
where a tree frog plays
his solitary gambit
everything drips except the hawk
dropping in after squirrels
through one hole in the canopy
and vanishing through another
at the beginning of autumn
my desire is still green
for the plushness of moss
the luster of rhododendron
and the brownish green
of newly grounded acorns
but what do you hear
above the din in your head
traffic and the rainy forest
their unknowing duet
how an acorn rolling past me has
a different knock for every rock
and raindrops seem more discriminate
when they fall from trees
their patter is a language
known to salamanders
and what do you see
when you put the scroll to sleep
fog envelopes us
and turns the light green
i open my umbrella
like a tattered black flower
the holes in its sky
let the darkness out
and what do you feel
when the craving ends
my lungs go on tirelessly
processing clouds