The chapel was always green and quiet
Myrtle Chapel, for the trees that
made the walls and ceiling
It was always a breathing silence
pulling in acceptance, relaxing my shoulders,
my neck
I should have gone there after I watched
him, him and her lying in the sun
I could have breathed and not become dizzy
I would have sat, my eyes traveling
up the ferns, to trunks, to leaf and sky
Can a tree make you
nervous, worried it won't accept you
can ferns whisper behind your back
poking and prodding your heart to see it
it's weak
The sun burns it away, second by second
The shade only shifts in reaction,
shiver by shiver.
