Light and silence on the forest floor
when the down-slipping sun opens the wood's doors,
reaching in its sidelong song for a short lease,
in swaths of shade and gold, laid side by side,
is a Pentecostal sort of peace - or Emmaus at least.
The airy mint and cushy ground of shed quills
become recipients of the wind's escaped rills.
To know the crannying breeze in between
the outer trees, while utter calm in the wood's
pillared midst, like in a great room whose walls
are pocked with accidental portals,
is to see, as in a gem, or in a song
that is never-wood-leaving, green's perpetual blessing;
and redwoods on the knoll, a crown; house of whisperings.
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