Forest trail

What if I whisper incantations to the moon,
late when the stars drown with mist,
when the mist drapes the lack of the sun with sugar plum dances,
low, my voice races me-
I will enchant these hoots with nothing but bearings,
 charms, sentiments and a little of the breeze I kissed
to send away, to corners of earth further than my body

What if in the dead
cold forest, all I do is dig up
the soil piling round my face,
dirt splashing into my light, curled hair
I drip, sweat into earth as I look
this is, I am sure the last spot I left, here I lost-
the earthworms gather
my sighs

what if you are there? I probably pass by you every day
let the dog rest for a moment, perk its ears
in an effort to hear the trod,
the voice not present, your wrinkles still developing
growing like mushrooms in moist and stopping
in their tracks,

leaving me with these untended questions
when I go deeper into this ground, this forest,
this voice of yours, the denim you wear starts
to feel real to my unused skin,
 starts to feel raw against my flesh
what if the incantations I whisper to the moon
are secret prayer?
let me find you, it's been long enough
tell you what, it's about time
I let you find me.