cutting trees
for Rob Plath
there is blood
only-
it is a stain
of gold sap,
so we don’t recognize
it to be just that-
and its acrid scent
too strong
desperate as a sad song-
when everything is gone.
the rings
of time
soaked in blood,
just a knub
with ghost limbs
surely swaying still.
for Rob Plath
there is blood
only-
it is a stain
of gold sap,
so we don’t recognize
it to be just that-
and its acrid scent
too strong
desperate as a sad song-
when everything is gone.
the rings
of time
soaked in blood,
just a knub
with ghost limbs
surely swaying still.
I'm swaying from a blood-soaked tree in the Middle Ages with this one.
ReplyDeleteYou transcend so much mysticism with so few words it astounds.