In the Park

I wade quietly through the sun and the green.

In a wounded nest of mountains. 

Browned from fires, holding only the strong and loneliest trees.

Standing embarrassed of the space around them.

I want to hold their leafy hands.

Tucked away from my noisy concrete world.

I secretly indulge myself.

In time. 

Drinking it up selfishly as though no one else will miss it.  

I inhale now. 

So deep it hurts and with the exhale...

My weapons disarm. 

I am the soft underneath.

Belly up and vulnerable.

Exoskeleton cracked and torn away by eager fingers.

Be tender with me now.

As I am guilty from ever having complained.

Life is beautiful in my nest. 

I find comfort somewhere

Unexpectedly and too sleepy for searching.