so much scenery

forests have their own religion
footfalls find all ground hallowed,
only a few stop
to feel the low hum
beneath
while others charge forward
finding new places to plunder
and still,
there are unending yearnings
for father’s wisdom and mother’s embrace

plotting courses with foreign language
we connect the main points
but miss so much scenery

when noone is looking
we spin as fast as we can
(when did that become a secret?)

broken scenes tucked in pockets
can only be cast on a wind leading away-
back to the beginning,
light steps
and quiet watch
crack the heart
to let earth seep in again,
no clothed shame in truth
when we step as lightly,
listening to wise laughter of twigs