The Orchestra

So orchestral through the trees.
The ground is open,
swallows me.
On my knees, I hear the pleas,
the windwash symphony of leaves.

The burning ocean is my hearth.
Drives me deeper
into the earth.
The forest blankets me with notes
it's music helps me find my roots.

My delving fingers bathe in silt, and I can
either burn my back,
or turn to salt.
So I look up to the gridwork sky
through branches playing lullabyes.

It's magic whispers, the story tells
we always shift to something else.
This ancient song, these walls of wood
transform me 'til I've changed for good.
I can do nothing. No one can.
And what would I, to be like them?

Hardened on the forest floor,
I don't hear stories
anymore.
Fallen leaves, eternal bed,
I sing the stories all, instead