Lost

Lost

Stand still. The trees ahead and the bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you go is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers
I have made this place around you
If you leave it you may come back again, saying Here.
No two branches are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.
Old Native American elder story

By | 2017-07-04T19:24:43+00:00 March 5th, 2012|Poetry|0 Comments