I was in the wrong forest
with the perfect clouds to
fill my lungs
and part in walking
tasting the moss and guava wood
long needles reaching off the stretched arms
of dark figures
grey skinned woodsmen
speak only in whispers
and quiet creaking squeals
but surrounding me I cannot
ignore their
presence
ancient
spear wielding spirits threatening
righteous death
or
fearless living on
through the forest
in the heavens above your
memory
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