beyond the seen

nothing of the stones

could tell the story of their place

as well

and as kindly

as the tiny eyes

flashing softly

in the whispering shadows

eyes

like clouded crystal puries

sweet pale-green eyes

that peer from beneath

the tumbled grey-black bodies

of those carefully-stacked stones

eyes

that have seen the beginnings

of magic

and the passing

of the talking woods

eyes that have known

the frosted glassy smear

of a winter's morning

and the honeyed buzz

of a summer's day

~

and to the eyes that see beyond the seen

a narrow well-worn path appears

trodden flat

by the countless passings

of tiny shoes

shoes that have gently trodden

past the dried leaves and stalks

of a summer long past

shoes that make no sound

yes,

wait long enough

and a tiny woodfairy

will appear

dressed in the greenest leaves

no matter the season

stitched together

with the finest roots;

silky silver roots

that hum

when they're stroked

and on their feet -

tiny milkweed pods

that make the softest sound -

a tiny breathing sound

as their feet

flatten the soft seedbeds inside

~

listen and look

with care

know that the little part of the world

that we inhabit

and call our own

is so very much

a shared place

and you will know

so much more

of this place

when you see

with eyes

that see

beyond the seen