she was a girl born between the thighs of the trees
she grew out of the earth
the product of the birds and bees
she didn’t know her name
but loving was her aim
running naked through the forest
feeling wind on her breasts
her lovers were the trees
her beds were the mountains
and for a hat she wore the sky
she didn’t know that she could die
because no one had ever told her.
she lived without knowing death
she lived with all that fear depressed by beauty
chased away by an ignorance of which she didn’t know the name
the snowy trees were not cold to skin that didn’t know no warmth
everything was wonderful
to the eternal-minded mind.
then one day she saw her hair was grey
her skin felt softer, rolled beneath her fingers
her eyes felt cracked at the corners
and her legs would not lift her up the mountains the way they had before
(she knew only before, and then later, not years or minutes or seconds).
and she felt the blacks of dark were darker than before
and couldn’t say why
but each new light it felt harder to crack open her eyes
and see the world.
and one night took her away in her sleep
and she died the way she came
between the thighs of the same trees that saw her birth
lying naked on the floor of moss and stone that had carried her through life
the life she didn’t know COULD end
because she’d never met such a notion in the forest
and she died without knowing she wasn’t living
forever forever forever
a wild beast of the wilderness of human existence.