Arboreal

see the tree
light the forest.
know her name

~

My face rests inside eyes,
but leaves only see their
own green-tinted nights.

No one makes the way
for me: it all leads north.
A cataracted sky looks on.

Ripe berries burst -
broken capillary cheeks
in sweet-smelling rivers.

~

a choice waits
to be made anew.
none are chosen
...
​Published in Cypress: A Literary Journal