when you go into a forest

when you go into a forest,
don't look for things
you feel you've lost
and want to find -
bird calls and silence,
growls and roars of the wild,
the smell of raw freshness
tingling your every pore,
and how your body
talks and listens,
through its skin and breath,
and trembling bones,

when you go into a forest,
go with yourself
just as you are,
a bag filled with goodness
and garbage and gore,
not looking for anything more,
allowing those tender vines
and ancient trees,
the deathly darkness
and dapples of light,
the swirling silence
and clarion sounds,
to grow into and all over you,
as you come alive,

and then, in that moment,
when you feel small
and insignificant,
like that insipid brown leaf
lying upon a rotting pile,
listen to the forest speak,
and you'll know what to do,
and how to be
wherever you go,
leaving no footprints to go back to,
taking no memories to share,
just that last drop of silence
in that brown leaf on a pile,
that exploded into you,
and touched you everywhere.

"when you go into a forest,
take nothing with you,
leave nothing behind."