(untitled)

The line where land meets the
horizon is loveliest at night
Clouds backlit by a brilliant moon,
casting the world in beautiful grays
How I wish to be buried in their depths
Blindly following the breeze as it
beckons me into the woods
Bare feet digging into cold dirt,
fingers brushing against bark
Surrounded by the thick smell of pine
I’d climb the tallest tree to reach the clouds
Climbing into their gentle embrace,
rocked to sleep in the craters of the moon