thoughts travel without passports or permission;

love cannot be contained in the human body,

so it now grows in the oak trunk of an endless tree.

time threads us together in loose, haphazard seams;

dreams contain all my greatest fears and fantasies,

so now I plant them in the mulch beneath tall grasses to grow mushrooms.

joy holds our hands or steps on our feet;

sadness escapes the container of the human heart,

so I let it spill from my eyes until before me is a clear stream.

life is the battle I only win if everything before its loss was meaningful;

the oak trees, mushrooms, and stream do not stay contained,

so the forest blooms and expands.

~ Sammicakes