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
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
Breathe
Elizabeth Beck
No comments:
Post a Comment