poetry is suspended time

“whole days in the trees”

an endless moment of breath and attention

it is the seed underfoot

it is water on stone in sunlight

liquid

salt on tongue

it is energy

it is word and song

and skin on skin

I could vine with you within it

dark-veined, hot-hearted

climbing higher, climbing tighter

seeking the heat and light of the overstory

lost in the dew, web and tendril of entanglement

*quote borrowed from Marguerite Duras