Keith of the Willows

The dreaming hand  
that fate comes to shake    
is the moment when Keith    
should wake, but today    
his name naps beneath
warm dappled sunlight,  
softly his mind opens,      
   
High above the trees,    
birds circle in a figure of eight,    
he feels the forest shifting    
his weight, he watches as his    
fingers start to grow into branches    
reaching out to connect, to war    
with the darkness of ancient woods,    
he wants to scream    
as his flesh crack open into bark.    
   
Then a sudden calm;    
 
Beneath the battlefield    
he feels the sunlight    
converting into food,    
the rush of nutrients    
from the forest floor    
He stands tall, rising    
high above the canopy    
a new creature being born    
and beyond compare,    
breathing oxygen into the air,    
at one with his true self.    
   
"I am Keith" he bellows    
to the listening sky    
and the forest carries    
him in every echo.    
If you listen closely,    
the leaves will still tell you  
his name.