the trees canopy the road,
the leaves bending down—-weeping,
almost. i wish that i
was the type of person
who could look at any tree,
flower, or bird & tell you
its name. & to whisper yours
as you touch my knee,
dabbled with blades of grass.

birds of many colors fly
across the road; the creek water
rushes; the wind rustles the leaves

the wilderness curses me
in the way that it’s my one source
of comfort yet a harsh reminder
of how my soul aches
& is so deeply, deeply lonely