Lovers

I lay with a lover
 in the forest today.
 He was a tall fallen tree,
 wrapped in moss
 the color of the first
 summer on earth.
 
 We lay facing each other,
 gazing.
 I ran my hand
 along his torso.
 I sunk my fingers
 into his deep green.

His fall had landed him

on a long, low rock.

Part of him lay straight

but something else happened

where he met stone. There,

he became sinuous,

snake-like, curving

with the hard contours.

The thing that impeded him

was an invitation to move

in a new way.

The stubborn obstacle

was the key

to another way to be Tree.

He didn’t fight the rock

but followed its lead,

and it gave him the jut of a hip,

and the dip of a waist,

and a rippling shoulder.

He became a lover, lounging,

awaiting the woman

who could hear

his simple appeal –

Lie down –

and was willing

to sink onto the bed

of rust-velvet leaves.

He was waiting

for me.

Photo by Ron Lach