angels in the snow

the woods are calling me
the concrete is weighing me down
i want to walk barefeet in the grass
not in soles laced with shards of glass

i want willow boughs as my bedding
i want lush moss as my pillow
no more plastic faces avoiding my gaze
none of these men is suits with their stench of false success

i need visions of ermerald beyond
voices calling through trees on an icy wind
cosmic vistas channeling my spirit
calling to me from the planes of my ancestors

i awaken to find myself in dirt
oh how i love the feel of dirt on my feet
i bath my feet in a cool autumn stream
and envision one day this world disolving
as a mirage in the desert and the true reality revealed,
waking up where i want to be, in the dirt, beneath falling leaves
my love at my side, the kettle on the fire, the children collecting wilde blueberries
and birds watching out for our little angels in the coming snow