You forget yourself. The green fingers that brush at your bare legs and feet, ever so lightly. Moss covering your hands. Sap sticking to your fingers like poisonous honey. Sparrows and hummingbirds and bees and blue beetles whirling around you, humming their songs to your movement. Canopies and carpets of reds and oranges and yellows, falling around you like a snow of the seasons. Your eyes lit with fire, the mane on your head a proverbial mop of dark curls, your lips rouged with spices. Your words hushed, saved only for those you trusted – those who raised you in this green world, the constellations you follow from the purple night into a sunlit dawn.Your feet, bare and hardened, taking you from the cave behind the waterfall to the top of the sprawling canyons. Running breathlessly through this place you visualize like a map in your mind, letting the arms of your oaks and sentinels and pines reach out to you in welcome. That dark hair trailing behind you like a cape of fine silk. Never leaving this place because it is your home, where you always return, where you fall into the soft cushion of the forest floor and close your eyes. And then you rise again to run wherever your spirit commands.
I tangled you in this love they have tamed since. You have forgotten me. You forget yourself.
You were once wild here.