Sunday, September 7, 2008

woodland prophecy

walk carefully where the moss
grows thick,
suffocating root and rock, cushioning
nodding red beads
of cranberry.

this place does not speak
the language
of anger. your hostile words

fall deadened to the ground, scattered
alongside yellowed leaves
of birch, rendered harmless.

sharpen your intent
now
or this place will bring on
a slow confusion, drawing you
into endlessly spiralling
endlessly spiralling trails
until dark comes,
holding you fast
as the air
grows chill.

walk carefully. this place
does not speak the language


Rachel Westfall
September 7, 2008

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