wooded lev

i have never felt you like today on my cold numb hands
where your traveling branches meet your trunk
the width of your rounds, your wrinkled bark
how a dying leaf feels cool and crackly ridged in my maze
and how the moss is fluff green with life even in this climbing freeze
of rock and of grass you are so unequally dense, distinguished
and then your tree breaks into a warm, coved gap
a haven, ah!
ridges round you are and roots curved, thinning
the ground parts and i smell the forgotten earth scent again
and then as i gather leaves and place my nose in the furry moss at your base there is a sort of horse radish and cool rain in my nostrils.
a tiny bus yellow fungus, formed like i could never misname
and again, spicy dirt
in this silent exploration are my prayers of awe
the unformed words of this glory and beauty grace.
who do i thank if not i for this embrace, this holding
my eyes are closed and yet i absorb every creation in this moment
every bit of that which i am and that which isnt and this meditative connection with the ground with this misted morning is the return of my soul to this place of experience. i can only take these
moments into the unfolding day of doing as a founded yes
a grounded alignment of one