I have written off that which is not known
Crashing into the earth…secrets come with the winds.
Dismissive pine needles of discourse…go, flow, go.
I choke on the ashes of the earth.
Soiled and turned and forgotten…
what is it that leave the belly of the beast that grows, grows and grows?
Perhaps a bitter forested pill which is embedded in plumes of snow.
To breathe or not to breathe.
The swaying maple, birch and alike,
are crying.
And, I sit singing their refrain.
