Unnatural

I am a painting of the landscape,

covered in magic crystal

bathed in mundanity

I am the rapids of a rushing stream,

crashing against the rocks,

planted firmly in the silt

I am an evergreen tree deep in the forest,

surrounded by orange glow

excluded from the spectacle

I am the biting breeze of early winter,

swirling mercilessly through the grove

echoing whispers of your name

I am a distant memory,

captured by the eyes of those

whose names are carved into my palms

I am the moon at her fullest,

weaving rays of divinity

into an untouchable illusion

I am a painting of the landscape,

melting into your unconscious telepathy,

ever presently calling you home.