Greenspace

Under branches that reached to the ground
with needles or snow, under the tent of
forevergreen, I made my home.
Earth or ice carpet, branch hooks for
pictures or hats or flowers plucked from
the nearby weed garden.

I took bowls and spoons
from my mother's kitchen to make my
culinary creations from bark, sap, and pieces
of cedar hedge, mixing bits of greenery
with puddlewater or snow melted between
unmittened hands.

After lunch, after washing bowls and spoons,
I settled down in snow or soil, looked up
the tall brown trunk, through cracks
in the green-roof. Saw sunlight rain cloud snow
and twilight. And an infiniteness
that always included me.

The scent of earth and pine always places
me under that tree, in my greenspace. Reminds
me of beautiful aloneness and losing spoons.