Woods Slake
My eyes hunger
for
the sky and
trees;
my ears, ravenous
for
the hawks and
crickets.
My skin longs
for the kiss
of rain
and wind.
The scent of pine needles
and
moss
pulls at my soul.
I take it in,
open wide,
sucking it down
like
one on the edge
of
starvation,
like an addict denied a fix,
then
savor it,
Replete.
