The Heart Desperately Seeks

This world is wild, vast, and strange;
these woods alone immense.
I seek my soul here among clatter
of bird-beak and and rushing leaves,
eery and ancient screams of insects.

The sun seeps through the breaks in the trees
illuminates the wood's carpet,
mossy and idle,
sepia and every green.

And what lies in darkness is there still
among root-rot and seed pods,
the moles' twisted homes,
and the nymph-cicadas waiting for their time to come:
everything is in its place.

What bit of this earth is not known?
And what we have yet to find
will soon be found.
But the heart is deceitful.
Its dark catacombs alone unsearchable.

I walk these woods observing
and remembering bits
from science class and National Geographics.
What more than beauty could I hope to find here among the trees?
What could I hope to learn from this earth
of something as foolish and immeasurable
as human love?