Bended boughs
blood-scarlet tape
and starlight hands,
we wrestle darkness
into sunk oblivion,
tread streams of
light to the next world.
adorned in moss,
girdled in stripped bark,
sips morning dew
from a cup of leaves.
Nothing lives that
she might dread in nature;
one to be handed
down in scoops of words.
Through the shape
of air she draws a picture,
dreamt of the one
she would adore if known.
hair drenched, she
stands taller than the boughs,
waits for an arc of
vibrant colour to paint itself
in this blued-out,
carved-up, blinded sky.
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