The Soles of My Feet

I live in an Oak tree

and embrace the darkness

in the green of things.

I stand with my arms

out to my sides, fingers

through the chandelier of leaves,

I touch the ripples of black and white;

my torso the center of my own gravity;

it propels me forward,

I drink it all in

through the lips of my pores,

feel it coil beneath my skin as I tread

softly through the stillness and chaos.

Then, from the soles of my feet

I find my voice

and speak.