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 … Continue reading Another Poem from the Past (while I work on my philosophy essay)