Tuesday, September 27, 2011

The Haunted

The woods are haunted, it is said
Where roots once tumbled ancient land
From bark to birth to brother’s hand
A ministry of trees
For trespass forsaken
In green cathedrals braced against ruin
In life pulsing through caged anatomy
A loamy thaumaturgy
Yet I've seen more good in them
Than all the children of men
The town is overrun with shadowed regrets
Cast by creaking giants
Soughing branches
And a darkness that whispers of us
Of the bounty we’ve abandoned
I have felt them
Phantom seedlings resting in skin
They will not let me alone
They fear I will soon forget
What it was like to

Elizabeth Beck

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