She inhales the forest
and holds it in, lets
vines curl around

her heart. Musky scents
of log moss and lichen drift
through her hair.

She eats wild thimbleberries
and stains her tongue, reads
the past in faces of stones.

She becomes soft dirt,
shrugs off each footprint
that has moved across

the path of her skin,
learns to shift
with the wind.

She lifts a finch’s feather
and becomes weightless,
floats to the crown

of a hickory and finds
that her hollow bones
can whistle like flutes.

Her voice echoes
through the valley
as a rustle of leaves.