Borne of Moss and Rain

In a Forest —

He’d give her the moon if he could,
Distill a musk of leathered wood,
Infuse it with esters of rosin
And fine flavors

She’d coach the creeping vine to spell,
“Be mine”
In the wood rot of an old, hollow tree
That’s where She’ll be

And She would wait for Him,
Garbed in the odoriferous,
Damp decay of fungus
While not traditionally an aphrodisiac,
It might remind Him that
She enwreathed this place
Especially for Them

These are their pungent dirts,
And their bulbs beneath that bloom
With whatever tulips might come forth
I wonder if they, too
Have a lover like you
A flower-mate to bear their soul with

Does he see her petals as incomparable,
And do his pistils reek of Xanadu
Does he speak in honeyed words
That tickle her ears
Like the fluttering wings of fairy-moths

I would tunnel myself in
Just like a cicada,
Sleep for several decades
Just to emerge and thrum a song for you
Of primal feelings
I would not dilute the thing with words

I’d like to think that Nature
Is caught up in a love story,
Playing out in leaf, and vine, and beetle
And that every variation is
Another love note
To the Earth that sprouted her

How eternal it would be,
To love him as a tree,
And give him forever
In the life-cycle of a frog

Her celestial heart would beat for him,
In the wings of a hummingbird
And cool itself in sunsets,
Just to heat and rise again
Reaching its zenith

A love that’s always new,
Natural, like evergreen moss
Constantly remoistening itself
In the pools made by dewdrops
They would wrap themselves tightly
In her petrichor,

Forever

“I lie here in the morning sun, the sun that finds me through the honeysuckle leaves, and I think of the sweetness my heart has, and the sweetness of many hearts.” 

–Peggy Pond Church