Kiss the Soil

Look up. Above you is a tree,
or maybe a billion.
The leaves blend together.
Your gaze is unrequited,
for you are insignificant
in comparison to their mass.

Goodbye is all they can say to you,
say to the world,
for you are a bystander,
dressed in plaid splashed with orange,
not yellow, due to the absence of sunlight
blocked by dense branches.

Pine cones are dangling
and though you beckon them to fall,
their spirits ignore you too
and your eloquent thoughts fade to nothing.

The trees are not yours to speak to.
But the loose mushrooms scattered on the ground
celebrate your monkey behavior,
and you rejoice for having been discovered by someone.