Tanned olive

When I lay on the mellow green

Of the earth

who fosters me like one of its

missing child,

making me drunk on the honey comb

Filtered juice that warms my flesh

from a far away driven sight

and jewel me with its dirt

that smells as though

my entrails have been hidden within,

bewitching me to call it a home.

The autumn wavers its hello

in its brown and crusty foundation

but it feels as if

the spring has crawled on me

Lightly bruising my cuticle,

All naked and archaic

as though It has been waiting for me;

To be the fragrance of the woods

again to be someone

I have always meant to be.