arbor

I should play among 

the sun’s reflection

in the cool trickles of

liquidy perfection

‘neath the quiescent

observation of oak roots

exposed by erosion.

I should chant a

mantra of pure joy

smelling the soft soil

newly rain-soaked

under my feet,

at the rustle of toil

of an unknown

companion in

the thicket or

an answered avian call

over the canopy.

I should sit for

longer hours amidst

the leaves, the

verdant foliage calls,

vibrant and seductive

as it pleads,

bark encompassing

a lineage hidden.

I feel as father and as son

on this hill in the wood

there is nothing profane

here, nor forbidden.

 I should live by my heart

forever in this land

encased in the bark and

rooted in the soil

created by deity’s hand.

I should.