from this vantage point, it all looks different.

[witness_light]

i think of our human
little deaths ;
they are as nothing compared
to the remnant of a song
in a forest ,
the eternal melody reduced to this
whisper in a young girl's ears .

i was chosen
by the sidewalks of my youth ,
the glow of streetlights ,
my young eyes lulled in the clack of
stroller wheels
to gaze at the sky .
a fascination, a call from
the sun,
the face of a god
as she becomes
legend .

the trees tell me
how wind feels in the branches,
the pulse of soil
and the crack of underbrush,
the scurrying life
and the unity

but cities have astounded me
with their concrete,
the perfect lines
the intelligent beauty
of their
disparate consciousness .

ours is a story of small deaths,
but i am not singing for only us .

Death mourns
the fall of a tree in the forest
as well .