There was a time
I stood in a copse of poplars
and a hushed rush up through my limbs
filled my chest with a brightness
I exhaled into the air.
It traced the cathedral limbs leaned in together
where they nodded against their smallest parts.
The magic rested just beyond that threshold
of quiet isolation and anticipatory fear
when the adults went away,
when the universe became so wide open
I emerged as a tiny mite shuffled along in its breeze,
and a natural religion planted its feet to say,
We are in this together.
The crunch through undergrowth
pocked by green upshoots
shifted into a braille staccato then,
a secret Morse with the soil and the stars,
to confirm we were one body
marching on within this pocket
on a rough verge
along the atmosphere's shore.