Green God

She would lay her body by the

Oak and dig fingernails into dirt until she is

Nothing but. She would encase her lips with that

Soft air between the tops of trees and the light

Filtering through leaves. She would sing a song

Written by the notches in the bark and the tiny

Weed-daisies crawling up her feet. She would,

She would. And there’s a yellow cluster of

Speckled somethings passing her, dissolving into the

Bird calls and the breeze like a lover’s prayer disappears into

Blind, dark hope. Everything’s still but so very loud.

So very green. And her fists wrap around the dull

Noise and pull it to her chest before letting it disperse

Amongst the lush depths of mossy brown. There’s no

God, she thinks, because I have to be the only person

Alive. Fully truly alive. The way flecks of water

Balance on grass blades, and the way the watch on her

Wrist has melted into liquid gold, dripping onto the

Green, and the way everything receives everything,

All entangled, knotted together, infinitely.