Stop. It’s not over     not yet
are we piling stones atop my mound, the hillside

still glistens wet, rain has still faln
the dark grass where the deer have walked still
is a clear path      Nature

I can follow, the ocean heaving I can smell, with
wild worship as my blood, the loons

looning, the trout trouting, the wolf wolfing
these are the truth seekers

these animals that  hunt  swim  call
are my teachers, tapping their pointers at the blackboard

assigning me books
of tree, and fungi, and rivers running;

I’m a no good daughter, a liar, a schemer, breaker
of promises, the martin      up my sleeve
I avowed

to never listen, to slip out the window
whipping my hair to lasso the passing train

I hopped      Nature, is similar
not bothering to learn the language of human beings.

Grant me forgiveness, if you believe me
my intentions un-malevolent

but skies      but woods      but mountains
don’t you understand      I’m not

a liar, a schemer, a breaker
living in the amphitheater of my own mind
flipping my finger up

I only wanted to touch      hold
the things I beat for, I would not dare

tell you how to be you, so let’s stop
piling stones. We’re not so different
You      I.