“In the Weindorfer Forest”

Tides of wind are regally swinging
King Billy pines, and nuzzling all
the indescribable things below

only the lens of eye to capture real beauty
only the thin drum to hear
the tick of accumulated mist
on to the clock of forest floor
then bitten on the ear

only the nose to breathe in the
slow seeped sap
and only to the mind to run
to where all this wonder might
be tapped

Or, what strangeness of place
this green haven might trap.