crisp strands yield
below aching restless feet
groves of infant trees
bend them so easily
surveyors' ghosts measure topography
or our swiftly moving bodies
wildflower crowns cling, forgotten
we are stalks among the rest.
clouds are fake snow fantasies
above vivid kites with
hearts tied to tails for stability.
raspberry thorns mix blood and earth
old magicthat has no owners
sacrifice on the waiting stone tables
no secrets for you today.
never domesticated
yet sweet smell invades
so bitterness stays.
silicone spider webs whisper
man-made shadows over crisp hay
not yet baled in sunrise
to the pounding of earth
dried with my blood.
~~AEW~~
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