I’ve left behind the difficult-to-navigate
winding concrete streets and irregular
breaks in rhythm in attempts to alleviate
city bustle, frantic tempo, etc…
A gentle breeze and the raindrops glistening
in exchange for the endless grind.
Best of all, there is no one listening,
so I speak with no one in mind.
Far from monuments, banks and churches,
with the mountains here to harbor me,
I read poetry to the elms and birches,
and they silently sway in harmony.
And the words I sow are for us to reap
to enjoy alone in the hidden woods,
and embracing you, I drift off to sleep
with an aftertaste of forbidden fruits.