CANOPY

 

Any story

can be rewritten.

 

Just go back

to the place

 

of disequilibrium,

to the wild canyon,

 

to the small bridge,

with an embrace,

 

an apology,

an acorn

 

in your heart.

Look to

 

the ancient oak

just there,

 

to the shelf

of fungi

 

beneath its heavy

bough and know

 

it is blessing you

imperceptibly

 

with its listening,

with a canopy

 

you can’t see,

telling a new story

 

that overwrites

everything

 

as you walk

deeper into the wild.