I am not the flower
born to unfold without consequence,
grown up to admire
and sit as beauty, uninvolved.
I live in a random forest
of friends and family
grown up into each other as volunteers,
baiting attention, pushed by wind
that clouds one from another.
Casual, wrapped in self and arms,
they build the shade of fortune
and the laughter of infinite wealth.
In the sway of leaves august
I live in a random forest.