Unfolding Under the Trees

The sun drops a dusty screen,
a curtain through
the window in the tree,
a wall of leaves, wood beams
thick as winter
and summer and fall.

I lay my heart down
(the roots rise
to meet my eyes)
beneath a blanket of ferns,
shadow puppets swaying
a silent chorus- on stage
a lighted sky.

Then the whole world forgets
I am me, dressed,
washed in another light-
little hairs on my legs, my skin
treated with another fantasy.

Here, I wear slippers of sun
on peasant feet-
I've no claim to truth
but a life, a whisper
beneath my cracked toes.

Here, my flat eyes common
see the concrete scraped away-
all I've known
a little, hard creek running off,
a kite string
light as my sigh
bound to a heavy heart of green.