P.M.

Behind your eyes is a forest:

Fresh air, cool water running,

Leaf filtered sunlight,

Moss, ferns, mushrooms,

Decaying logs.

Eyelash curling coy around your hazel tree eyes.

It is dark, cold, damp and I have no compass.

Under the old leaves are shoots,

and beetles.

Footsteps around and around,

who else is in this wilderness?

Forests and thunderstorms put me in my place.

Just another surviving animal,

A great relief, and vulnerability.

I expect to see green shoots

from your eyes one morning –

– while my green eyes grow dark with old leaves.