Poetry love

[lloli]

"Now, after all these years, 
I'm becoming literate in the other language. 
My feet know the twist of knobby spruce roots. 
My hands caress soft moss beds.
I've smelled leaf mould on autumn mist, 
tasted sun-hot blueberries. 
And, occasionally, as I touch, 
taste, 
and listen, 
the boundary between nature and me becomes a threshold: 
I step across. 
The wild either slips into me, 
or comes leaping up, 
like a silver fish, 
flashing out of my own dark wildness "