ManicDDaily

Just Hiding

Sometimes, I could just hide
in some lined wood,
my fingertips fitting bark prints
as if I were
all fingertip,
a chosen trunk my belly’s back
as if I were only spine,
flattening myself against growth’s bounds
as if vertical were how I always laid me down,
as if hiding turned me into treasure one might seek,
asking, like the mourning dove, who I was–
though you already know that
through and through,
and, like the mourning dove,
ask only because the call sounds
of water,
like a swallow of water,
like the soft swoop/rise of water,
and trees need
water.

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Here’s a poem of sorts not written for any prompt! Though I will link, belatedly, to With Real toads Open Link Night. The picture is an old one, and doesn’t really go with the poem (as I meant to describe someone hiding behind a tree, not in one.) (I like the picture though!)

P.S. I’m so sorry I’ve been slow to return comments. I’ve been away from home close to two weeks and I’m a bit off-schedule. (And I think I may have posted this poem inadvertently when going to sleep!)