alone
i return to these woods
where trees reach high, high
above my head
and the earth is a bed of
leaves, living and dead
seated on a felled tree
i write a little
read a little
listen to the highway in the distance
these trees are not illusionary
nor is this stillness of heart
but i begin to think that i dream
even when i believe i am awake
a still night now
the cat's ears lift to catch night sounds
deep between the waking state, deep between the dream
i toss gently
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