It's Still Life

IV.
The Grammar of the Forest

the air tastes—
of green pennies
and the ghost of last night’s rain,
of split cedar
and the slow dissolve of light on wet bark.

breathe deep: your tongue learns a new alphabet.

moss is a vowel here,
pine resin a consonant—
sticky as unspoken truth.
even your teeth feel it—
cool as river stones,
humming with chlorophyll.

tilt your head back—
watch the light fray
into a thousand dialects:
needle-sharp
where it stabs through fir,
soft as butter where it pools
in the oak’s elbow,
liquid as mercury where it slides down
a birch’s spine.

its canopy is a shattered
stained-glass window.

each fragment preaches a different gospel of gold.

press your nose to the bark—
that’s where the forest keeps its oldest memories.
the resin weeps amber,
smelling of burnt sugar,
and something older than language.
it clings to your skin like a confession—
like the first word of a spell
you’ve always known
but never dared to speak aloud.

this is why you return—
not for the sights, but for the mouthfuls:
the way your lungs
become a library of loam.
the way your lips part,
and the horizon dissolves
into the tang of a universe.
and it breathes back.

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PAD (Poem-a-Day Challenge) Day 11 with Prompt: Nature. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025 All Mischief Reserved.