• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 12
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Out in the woods you plan to be at peace.
Shrugging off the machines,
their noises and their lights
and all their solid shapes.
You sit cradled in the sunken earth.
Chancing a glance around,
then shutting out the wood itself.
You breathe the wind,
and feel your toes
curl among the grass and roots.
You feel the leaves that fall,
gently down like hair,
when cut.
The rain forms rivers
along your arms,
down your legs.
You stretch these out
like the branches above,
as if you were not here
but just another tree.
Breaking the pose
but keeping the liberation.
You go,
but thoughts of peace remain.