even when
words might seem
d i s c o n n e c t e d
you will find
a pattern to the way
of everything
beside a rubbing tree
where bears
leave their scent
I plant my feet
firmly in their prints,
and walk into the wild
moondiving
galaxies drip
from your sleek pelt
I have always known
that you were made
of light
I talk to trees
this language
is not new to me
in every turning season,
another adjective
for love
A Cherita Lighthouse Award
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