Pause.

Drop yourself off in the woods.
Leave yourself there.
Erase your heart
of its to-do lists.
Become part of the forest
at whatever level:
Tree, snag, log, sapling.
Know that you too have bark
that protects you from
the beetles of life
and that’s okay
but feel under it
growth lives there,
life lives there.
Go on and speak
what your heart sees.
Say, “Here! Here is my poem!”
Watch it grow, leaf, blossom
wilt, decompose, grow again
and flower through you
and say, “Here, here!
I am the poem.”

Chelan Harkin. “Poetry Class.” Susceptible to Light.