Encantata.

Quietly. Stillness envelops us evermore
—hushed transparent children hiding—
with warm fingers and prying, exhumes
ancient oaks and cedars that lived
when I came from my mother’s womb.

This shuddering mossy room
vibrates with each step taken;
so tread sprite-lightly, feet soaring
and with footsteps awaken
the sleeping giant waiting to bloom
beneath earthen crust and core.

This earth will be my tomb:
yours too; you cannot run, cannot fly
from your end, for it is decided and written
in stone and river beds long dry.
Thus saieth the forest floor.