On the edge of a forest

I do not know a great many things
only to walk within reach of the trees.

I feel more like myself
in the gentle listening
that belongs to the forest.

Do I belong like the onion weeds or wild seeds?

Winged creatures fly at my approach. Is it because
my footsteps seem louder than my thoughts?

As the mud creeps between my toes,
I do not know how to offer myself
to this conversation.

I want to thank you
for being here.
I keep listening
for my own
silence.