or did you touch my soul?
i'd slip from the delicate, leafy green
cradle, let the dew slide away to dry
a spot on which to sit and drink in
the morning amidst the peaceful trees
that seem to shade me from harsh light
my tired eyes not quite ready to
open to the world, not fully, so i let
them close briefly as i listen to the soft
trickle, a flowing stream that touches my
toes when its path is broken slightly
by a tiny rock, a stone of pink, blue, the
gray seems a mere backdrop to the rest and
it reminds me of the evening, at sunset
a storm threatens to cast its fury upon me
it does, and the leaves fall, heavy with skywater
but i only slide in closer to you and rest
my head on a shoulder that never seems
to be more than a silent thought away