beneath the tree

 
take me where you lay  
your dead poet
bones beneath the tree
 
we’ll look like honey bees
on the softness of despair
riddled with silk & silhouette of artistry  
 
where the walls are deep
and breathe near whispers  
rise & fall, now & then,
 
and so I sit with rocks
I sit with my thoughts  
for long periods of time  
 
mumbling chaos, and so I find  
a stride in my forest sonorous
and so walk.