Ode to the Wild God

Don’t puke up the medicine.
Something great
has entered your body
and stirs your soul.

The winds
sweeping up from the South cried,
Don’t delete nature!

Strange words.
Stranger still is the language
of soul,
of darkness,
of ancient wisdom,
mixed with cultural expression.

It was thunder I felt.
It was the pain of spasming muscles.
It was the cry of impotence.
It was despair for the starving children.

Trees…….trees.
All I can tell you
is that trees saved me.
Trees kept me from running.
Trees stood guard
over my swollen cocoon.

Please, please
help me receive this medicine.

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This poem was written on October 9, 2025.