If a tree falls…

Would you still hear me 

in the quiet woods of night 

when it seems empty on top 

but there’s scurrying beneath? 

I like to sing about green things 

like a spiraling embrace in fog. 

When it gets very cold, 

I imagine being suspended 

like a frog in an icy pond, 

longing to leap and love 

in a welcoming sun. 

But today, the woods are empty 

and winter is upon us 

(can you hear me?).


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