When the Trees Fell for the Forest Floor

(and other love stories between the elements)

I started a poetry project quite a while ago, like so many of my projects, scribbled beginnings of something that wanted to be born, but left waiting in the wings while I ran off chasing ten other ideas. This one though… it’s been whispering at me to finish.

It’s a series of poems written from the perspective of the elements themselves. Fire speaking to the Forest. Water teasing the Moon. Air confessing to Earth. Some of them are tender and ethereal, some are raw, suggestive, after-dark confessions of what happens when one force of nature collides with another. It’s elemental love and destruction, attraction and surrender, written as if they were lovers with secret histories.

These poems aren’t just words on a page. They’re a reflection of something bigger: how we crave connection, how opposites ache for each other, how even the most untamable forces have stories of longing.

I am not sure when exactly it will be finished (It’s basically already written, I just need to organize it all), but I am excited to continue working on it and finishing another half-done project.

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Here is one of the poems in the collection: this is from the “After Dark” collection.

I Ache to Touch What No One Sees
- from the Trees to the Forest Floor

I rise in silence.
Strong. Towering. Reaching.
But baby,
I grow for you.

They look up
and call me beautiful.
But I crave the places
they never think to look.
Below.
Beneath.
Into.

I send my roots not to anchor,
but to search.
To find the warmth in your soil,
the softness in your dark.

You take all of me,
no questions.
You part for me
without a sound.
And when I press deeper,
you pull me in.

You hold my hunger,
my need to feel something more than sunlight,
something damp and rich and holy.

You know what I am
before I do.
You cradle my reaching
and answer it with stillness.

Together,
we become something they call a forest.
But we know better.
We know this is a tangle.
A grip.
A secret we keep 
between your moss and my marrow.

I bend with the wind,
but I cling to you.
And the deeper I go,
the more you open.

I ache to touch what no one sees.
And you,
you ache to be touched
by something that stays.
And here I am,
ready and willing.

Thanks so much for reading, and for sharing this journey with me!

If you’ve ever felt like fire craving water or wind chasing earth, this collection of poems might just be for you.

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Let me know if you’d like to see the response from the forest floor.