on Nature

on Nature
who knows Nature
who knows Creation?


I am detached
I can't romanticize Nature


I love the vibrancy!
exposed by Sun
after heavy Rain
releases upon itself


strength, chaos
it's a love I know
vulnerability, peace
a love of convenience


where is Stopping Love?


I Imagine Nature is like Poetry
or Nature is Poetry
but I don't know
because of the disconnect


the Trees - all wearing
tight
ivy dresses
naked arms
out
mingling -
except one


outside my window
I see dense, populated
Nature, surrounding
a wooden, wired
pole, existing
together - untouching -
with no
connection, except
Air and Dirt
and
Unknown Tension


does Nature miss me, or
am I a walking, wooden,
wired pole?
      If I knew Her,
would She clothe me?