cloud forest justwrite

I hold my palm against the rainforest floor and you tell me to feel its heartbeat, its breath so cool when the sun is far away, your hands around my wrist to block the light, words tickling my veins with their fingertips. In the night there are voices outside and two women sit on a windowsill, their minds weaving songs as a lone trumpeter outside wishes he could sing so he could remember each verse like it's the same as the last, waves grabbing my ankles and rubbing my back, a seashell slipped on like a ring like the one around the moon when we're huddled inside a cloud, the cool breath in the soil climbing to our lips. The butterflies make me think of you, when they don't remember how to land and the cities look like they're exploding through my airplane window, voices growing distant or tides growing closer, like rain on my neck but it falls from the ground or just appears because the air is so wet we drink while we breathe. Today, the smiles of strangers are like fresh bread and a gold coin in my pocket, footprints with only two toes leading me up three trunks and not needing to steal my lunch because I'll share if you ask. What you bake is sweet, dissolving on my tongue like sand on my knees when I kneel and realize I've been praying all this time, palms against the forest floor, feeling its heartbeat and finding mine.