one forest remains
energy needs more than air
leaving machine world
c l couch
photo by Maximalfocus on Unsplash
(x = space)
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Revival
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Litany
Reading and response
Perhaps an antiphon
Might it happen in the forest
Where leaves are hymnals
And the altar
Is a clearing?
The supplicants
Are independent creations
Of all kinds
Petitioning for food, water,
Or the succor of the soil
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The forest as cathedral
Is nothing new
As metaphor
I wonder if each clearing
Is a parish
While alongside (in
earthly terms)
The desert
Is a church so vast
That all the Notre-Dames
Might fit within
With room for more
As if to invite
A wider awe
By people
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C L Couch
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Photo by Thomas Ho on Unsplash
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(x = space)
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There’s a Story at the End
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I don’t know what to say.
I need the birds to
dance across the
page
with their feet dipped in ink.
It’s a medieval riddle’s
answer,
though it would be cruel
to force birds’ feet
into wells.
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I guess we take their feathers,
turn them into quills;
maybe we could wait
to find quills
inside forests:
gifts from the sources of stories
and the desert
and the sky
and moving waters
taking the shape
of earth below.
That’s what I want to tell,
a story!
Something for everyone. And
is there such a thing?
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Once there was a child
in a forest
Who came upon a grown-up
clearly starving.
The child gave the grown-up
the only piece of
bread
in the child’s bag.
The adult rose up and thanked
the child.
Then they noticed that
the child’s bag
had a hole through which
crumbs had fallen—and through
forest-magic
had not been eaten
by birds or other creatures!
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They knew certainly where the
crumbs
would take them,
so they went home
where everyone was
known,
because everyone was
home.
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C L Couch
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Photo by Jan Kopřiva on Unsplash
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(x = space)
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The Forest Rounding Heaven
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On my way to heaven,
I walked into a clearing in
The dark and then heard
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Music and saw shapes of
Beings gathered; then the
Clearing shone with
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Silver, moonlight having
Cleared away, it seemed, some
Heaviness in clouds;
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Then I saw they were in
Front of me, why, animals
Of all kinds: some playing
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Instruments, the rest stepping
Freely, animated as I
Perceived by the zeal of
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Knowing they were free of
Hunger and the need to
Watch over their shoulders
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One came up to me, a
Raccoon who knew my
Language and must have
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Noticed both my wonder
And confusion—“Hello
And welcome,” said the creature,
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“We are here at last, aren’t
We?” then she or he said more,
“No longer do we have
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To eat the best we find
In trash, and we don’t have to
Worry about predators
x
Or mischief from your class,
Sorry for offending”—opening
Arms to the circle,
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All the groups in pairs and
Threes and fours inside, “Please
Join us in the dance;
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Don’t worry, none of us is good
At this”; I saw all the turns
Taken awkwardly,
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Squirrels twirling atop
Badgers, dogs embracing
Mountain lions, hares with
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Other hares, with wolves
As well; I didn’t know
How long it would take
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For all of them to tire–but
I had to move along,
Which after tries at stepping
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To magic tunes and dancing
Without shoes, I did;
I walked farther and further
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On toward what heaven
Might have for me—for
My kind and one by one
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C L Couch
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Photo by Donald Giannatti on Unsplash
Driving through the Laguna mountains as the sun rose in deep fog. This little glen had a mysterious and quiet feel to it.
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(x = space)
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The Word for Forest
(for Ursula K. Le Guin)
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We need something that is lasting
Like air
That hasn’t been ruined,
Where a tally of the molecules is useless
Because our calculators break
In the process
A world that is a forest
As in a story I read a while ago
Where the inhabitants cannot perceive
The sense
In wrecking air
And everything life-giving
Breaking a circle they took part in
For ages,
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For what is profit if not that
A world that has trust in them
The smart ones on the planet
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C L Couch
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Photo by Sebastian Unrau on Unsplash
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