Poetry
09 / 22
Untitled 9
At the forest's threshold,
the scent of green
steals my breath away.
The ground is rough.
I dip my feet
into white-spotted shallows,
and faces greet me
like old friends returned.
The green sea
does not come toward me,
yet I go out
to meet it, unperturbed.
To you, who have somehow
grown so composed,
I leave behind
a few unanswered questions.
Mirages shimmer,
fooled by the bare branches.
Blossoms of fever,
vivid before my eyes.