memory

a small ripple
a wave,
a tsunami.
the sound
of a promise
surrendering
to a memory

days

the calendar blurred
the
boundaries between the
days;
we are
navigating silently,
where we are.

When I am in the woods, I stay quiet

I want to be like a tree

A tree only moves when something moves it

It does not try to imitate anything else

It is always true to itself