I’ve taken to the hills again,

pressing palm to oak trunks,

twisting dried flower from artemisia,

rubbing leaf of umbellularia.

Finely felt in muscle short and long,

a humming soreness blooms from steep terrain

and welcoming climbs toward sky.

How I’ve been so remiss from my friends,

the strange and strangled choices made

and sad distorted hold of events beyond control,

I do not know.

Leave it to the land to call me back,

to breathe life in

to one who still has it.

Faster breath and heartbeats

bring me round again to being human

with a rooting itch of vitality.