Poem: Dark Moon Night

The thing I most
want to remember
is how it feels to kneel
on damp earth
palms spread against the leaves
calling my spirit back
from where it has wandered,
re-collecting the many tendrils
that have curled away,
scooping up the shards
that have scattered
into realms
both digital and personal,
reweaving the threads of being
until I resettle my soul
once more in my skin
on the dirt.
I will remember the muted
rainbow spirals of mushrooms
blossoming from a gray trunk
and the sound of coyotes rising
from the valley
on a dark moon night.

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