The darkest green. Part Three. Final.

A multi-part poetic coverage of an unusual encounter.


The aftermath and end.

I awoke
covered by a blanket of slashed branches,
my feet embedded in rotten earth.
!This can't be my tomb?
The remnants of what once were grocery bags
made it clear;
my way to the afterlife was not strewn with roses,
but you
tree and me,
deceased?

Tree stands warped.
I'm lying hunched asking
myself...

Which season are we in,
which decade of our lives?
Will autumn bring relief when the rain
washes the gold of your remaining leaves?

I feel suddenly a growing enmity
How can I regain lost confidence?
We both need our talks to resume.

The Gallito de Roca
interrupts the monotonous grey of the closed sky
The most beautiful of the pájaros
searches for a rainbow to celebrate its ascension.

I lost my ear in complete dedication.
I dropped my tongue in fear for hurtful words.
My eyes drown in tears.
The grooves in my face are as your bark cloth,
tree!

I'm looking for green
a tender bed of dark green
the darkest green.

The darkest green. Part Two.

A multi-part poetic coverage of an unusual encounter.

Tough Choices, Difficult Decisions.

How save are my thoughts with you,
tree?
Will the rain pierce or slide off
of your canopy?
Birds are invading my shopping bags
showing the onlookers the bittersweet content they will
devour behind the rustling leaves.
Will you reveal my mental desires in the same way
tree?
One
careless moment
One
gust of wind...

I have told you my deepest secrets
In return I got
falling tears disguised as leaves.
I didn't ask you to share my grief.
I need your forcefulness not your
weaknesses hidden in your
leafy arms.

I was attracted by your strength
now wondering why
I didn't prefer the beauty
of her delicate shoulders?
My tears would have dampened her skin
but afraid as I was
I am now downgraded
to a tree whisperer.

Scraping my ear close to your bark
I hear your insides growling.
A burping wind races through your crown
Deep green turns into jet black
your siren song urges me to leave.

The darkest green. Part One.

A multi-part poetic coverage of an unusual encounter.

At first sight.

The sky went from almost snow

white

towards a shade of 

grey

that I would easily call 

black.

Still,
the tree was showing some color

despite the fact that you couldn't distinguish

the tired trunk 

from the newborn leaves.

I met the tree a long time ago.

I started,

what some may call, 

a conversation, 

while, I would 

rather define it as 

a tentative scan of

possible common interests.

First I dropped the grocery totes 

at the side of the lawn,

showing some fatigue 

to a few potential 

suspicious transients.

In those days 

it was inconceivable that 

I would sit.

It was rather 

a cautious almost bashful

approach of the throne.

My mouth

does not dare speaking.

My lips whisper 

a barely audible

sigh.

My ear caresses 

the trunk 

in a almost erotic touch.

A magical wind spreads through the branches 

and foliage flatters the senses.