We
touch,
and the
room reels, walls
transforming into
a forest palisade, with its
renewing eternity. We walk between the trunks
on moss carpets, relinquishing
ourselves into the
magic wave
of the
wood,
its
lymph
a
potion
to quench now
mounting needs. As we
levitate, sun penetrating
bodies, heating the marrow until it is almost
unbearable, we are released
at last into the
sublimeness
of flight.
Hand
grasps
hand,
while
we lift
and plummet,
hover and spiral,
surrendering will in the swells
of delight. When want subsides, branches beckon, reaching
to retrieve us, rocking us back
to earth, back to now,
back to the
room and
its
walls.