I unravel before you.
Burning for the forest full of witnesses.
Life sure has its meaning.
Over years, I have postured the moon.
Now with my heart wide open.
Even farts were created by your god.
She can be sad.
Or she can be crossed.
Or she can be great.
Crossed arms and tender.
Behind battle eyes and bayonets.
We both dream.
Of Better places.
Where little trees live large.
We both settle in the search.
Tired of looking.
Just okay to touch root feet at night.