I stood among you all,
at the edge of the wood,
a place of curiosity, felled
by absentminded fates.
So meant for heartier work
to weep away the runoff – dissent,
the wet and grime that infiltrates
the ground, I’m to abet
and keep your floor unfettered
from labor, a hollow sweep.
Explored and secreted with man’s lust
and beauty, pages turned and creased by hand.
Housing your scoundrel kin,
a respite from the elements, secure
yet open to view the sun
and neighboring vines, their vow unspoken.
And now, the years have culled me in
and I’ve become a part, somehow,
of green and life, of hope and fate
a place of refuge, I have been.
I wrote this in response to poet Mary Biddinger’s recent prompt on Twitter, to write a nature poem from a non-human point of view… This is a combination of a nature poem with a childhood memory of a place in a nearby woods from my home.