poetry dump — be here now

I am here, now.
My tiny home in the mountain trees,
my pen and paper, sleeping bag.
The sky rolls colours above me—
          cream and lavender and the softest grey.
Moths and gnats
          weave bobbing silhouettes against
          the fading light.
Featherduster branches shift
          from green to black
          as the sun drags their
          bristled details over the horizon.
Tomorrow, I leave this place,
          a body-sized impression crushed into the moss,
          my quiet breaths and
                     heavy footfalls gone from the air.
I lay as still as I can,
          eyes roaming over the undersides
          of the scattered canopy
          spread out against the clouds.
          Birdsong at dusk, ants beside me.
          Wind across my face.
I am here, now,
and I never will be again.