by The Juicer

Telling the grass it’s green, the trees they stand rooted. Telling the river it moves although it looks still. I am telling the air it is everywhere.

I will stay here, I announced, to hear you speak.
I will stay quiet now.

Ankles dug in grass, hands touching the bark, blades and catacombs.
Swimming. Breathing in, breathing out, rising and sinking.