A Shape in the Forest – Charles Hensler
I’d rather play a piano, my hands off on their own, the notes the only thing I want you to see: how they rise in a diamond blue air. Descent has promised us nothing— a too-loud wind, a fall through an uncharted canopy waiting with its green embrace, its love of disappearances. If you refer to your brochure, this forest can breath and sigh—a passage played tree after tree. We can stand at the edge listening, or maybe come back some other time, walk in at dusk half-drawn in the papery crowd, none of us more than the weight of a shadow. Besides, with the sun still lit behind the trees it’s too bright now, looking in, too dark looking down.

Charles Hensler lives and writes in the Pacific Northwest. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Shore, One Hand Clapping, West Trade Review, Pidgeonholes, ballast, boats against the current and others.