The heat, it must have been the heat
That teased and turned my steps
That stepped a different thrust and beat
A moan of limbs on fire where once were feet.

The green, it must have been the green
That cooled me in a light I’d never drunk
That drank me in a way that drew a sigh
Surrendering to what, before, I had not seen.

Into the trees; I went within the singing
My garments eased from flesh that needed air
An airing of the need within my skin and hair
With ending like a bell that needed ringing.

That sound - a cry that led you to the wood
To find me, naked, drinking at the stream
The hand, that once had stroked now drew on flesh
The nails inscribing paths of where I’d been.

©Stephen Tanham 2021

Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being. and

6 Comments on “Green Fingers

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