through a football field in July
I was floating. Don't tell me we weren't
beside the wood together. You and I both
saw what was split open and beginning to rot.
And in your haste maybe you forgot
how the forest falls down to begin anew
every new season of the geothermal
despite your unease. Eventually, we
and our laurels might make it
if the roots take time to seep through.
Until then, though,
I will slip through the steady stream
saying (and meaning it)
I should tell you, I wasn’t really lost