[Mister Saint]: 79.Poetry.Clearing in the Woods

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"In the Lee of an Oak"

Grasses quiver, shiver
in the bitter winter winds
while languid, liquid shadows
ink their faces midnight blue,
and brush their hollows black.
Glimmering green defines their scent.

Against my shoulder blades
the knotted oak provides
a shelter from the wind.
I trace my hands along his
ancient chest, I tickle fungal sludge
that glows with golden mold,
and slumber overcomes me.

The green aroma owns my smile,
and snugly lulls my eyelids low
like shades, drawn slowly
over lazy windows.