Pantyspydded:  Walk 10
a poem in draft

 

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III.
Before we knew we
were lost, we found our
way: a green descent
to a streambed bursting
with ferns, where
thin algae-covered trees grew
in impeccable British rows.

Only pinholes of familiar blue
sky pierced the canopy,
the Sun hinted at through
a fleshy green lampshade.

Below, leaves were cool to
the touch, caressing my ankle
skin to the sound of water
slapping against itself.

Crossing the stream was a collaboration
of arms, bent knees and stretching,
seeking fingers: Give me your hand.

Together, we dug toes into
the hill, and the trail
widened before us.

It led us in a circle,
inspiring confusion-
a moment's urge to turn
back. No, instead, we
went full circle, taking
the low hill into the damp and shining
woods. The second time
we savored what we had first
been in awe of.

I silently prayed, may being
lost with you always
be this kind of adventure.
We were off the map and
I was lost in a deep green
with you,
in you.
Lost.

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