It is one of those forests where, if you run fast enough,
barefooted and alive, you can touch off – roots and ground-
shadows become branches, green acorns, and shade falling
asleep until you find yourself swimming in the clouds,
not kicking but push-gliding, lungs and down-soft sun
breathing in and out through every pore. A bird may nibble
the moss from between your toes, but other than that
you’d never know you were the least bit out of place.
You’ll know you have arrived when you hear
my footsteps approaching from behind the ocean.
They plink, maroon-gold and bronze, along
the opal planes of rippling waves – schools of fish
and planets turning as if to say hello, before continuing
their orbits with flicking tails and comets.
Remember, as you are eating your sapphires
and drinking your amber, that just as taste and smell
discuss your crumbs, more senses – both relatives
and strangers – await us on this star. We will drink
and breathe at once, inhaling the teal and violet light
that leads us to the city on the hill.
There, above the forest, we will learn to count
new colors over tea; and, when we are overflowing
of sweetness and numbers, we will play hopscotch
on the moons, or take a nap between distance and time.