Forest

I wish I were in the forest,
Not walking, but hiding. Unseen.
I could be a leaf, amongst the others,
Blending in but not the same.
A drop of water; my father the sun.
My mother the rain.
I could be the soft dirt, under bare feet,
between baby’s toes.
The yellow powder in the fragile rose,
I sneeze and it explodes.
I could be the mist that rests on fur and web.
It rises up to catch air along the river’s ebb.
The trapped monarch’s dark wing,
Beating frantic rhythms for a dancing spider.