Days have passed me in this green grove

where time has stopped

(or never started)


surely someone once sacrificed something for someone


or is that just the green-man myth?

perpetuated by some guy in Glastonbury

bored stiff and wearing hemp

hoping the crystals he buys mean something


because we all want to mean something

like me here

hiding under chrolophyll leaves

like some forest creature I have no end

or beginning


words we use for trees?

scientific and bland

or insanely romantic


did you know mistletoe was a parasite?

says a lot about our first kiss, I think.


cry my eyes out to a birch

weep to a willow

croak at an oak


don’t think they care

I’m taking my nature worship elsewhere


limp home

scrawling notes


leaves stick to me

brambles cut my ankles


forest therapy or

tree-filled apathy?