moss underfoot, an ancient congregation beneath an azure-scattered canvas above, aching to speak.
raindrops whisper conversations impossible to know amidst conifers and dampened ground-
the truth told only in unshed breaths and tremored sighs.
Why now do we gather, in muted webbing across endless pathways marked only by steps taken
where friendships are woven not in the seen but the felt, body on sinewy bark traced, carved soft with wind,
reshaped except by longing.
crickets herald inklings of darkness's embrace, gravity wells speckled singularity
float past yet anchor down the ethereal rendezvous of friend.
spirits seated neatly here, not recognized by their veiled echoes found – earth-to-root braided parallelong sinistral lengths
a chamber contained except for and imperviousness turns
where unity reaches cacophony, almost quiet until stands resigned, serene fundamentally
known tenderness oversees unsaid guardian insights