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In the Expanse of the Tree

feet slog through sticky mud

damp moss a funeral shroud 

blankets branches spiraling

arcing in repose

roots raw long rotten

slumbering giant

I dwell within

tracing two twisting trunks as they

curve away from each other

the Lovers frozen in parting

tangling arms outstretched

toward and away

interlaced fingers dome

cradle the sky above

keep it from me where I lay

sweet limbs years into their own embrace

the wet wood doesn’t care

if I am here or not

everything just is

is beautiful

but is

is terrible

but is


The Stream Beyond the Trail, Where I Picked Up Ten Ticks

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