under the hillock well/

©2021 Michael Raven

youth does not smile
washing away cuts blood
carved in the roots
of ancient tree

she takes no joy
in these motions --
things are as they
should be that
is all it ever will be

waters wash away away
away opportunities
branching as more
grow in the tendril
wake carved with stone
blades hard
obsidian in night
new songs growing forth

sing

sing

stone in the ice in
the fire of need

feeding the thorn
she weeps