Last updated: 8 hours ago
Forest Practice
I lay stones in patterns on bare ground—
Line to circle, circle to gate,
Each shape a study in the found
While morning doesn't hesitate.
Between two pines, I stretch twine tight,
Map intersections, watch them cross.
The forest keeps its own delight
In calculations of my loss.
Birds gather, neither friend nor threat,
To watch this geometry spread.
I build what I cannot forget,
Leave symbols in the watershed.
Small fires mark the time between
These visits to my makeshift shrine.
The woods hold neither what I mean
Nor what I'm trying to design.
At dusk, I rest among these signs,
Not seeking answers anymore—
Just tracing these familiar lines
Like footprints on the forest floor.
I lay stones in patterns on bare ground—
Line to circle, circle to gate,
Each shape a study in the found
While morning doesn't hesitate.
Between two pines, I stretch twine tight,
Map intersections, watch them cross.
The forest keeps its own delight
In calculations of my loss.
Birds gather, neither friend nor threat,
To watch this geometry spread.
I build what I cannot forget,
Leave symbols in the watershed.
Small fires mark the time between
These visits to my makeshift shrine.
The woods hold neither what I mean
Nor what I'm trying to design.
At dusk, I rest among these signs,
Not seeking answers anymore—
Just tracing these familiar lines
Like footprints on the forest floor.
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