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