THE FOREIGN FOREST

You burn your bridges

going into a foreign forest

like a gleaming cruel

new school

where you don’t know

the bluffing bullies

from the silent cougars.

You learn from experience

going into a foreign forest

where cold pine needles

have a smell

like a new lover’s hair

in winter –

slippery ice spiced.

You can’t name the flowers

going into a foreign forest

but the leaves blaze

against the early snow

like a moment-fire

blowing into your eyes

hot. too much. cold.