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Feb 2017
we enter the forest
past Colliers Mills

as though it were a house
abandoned long before

each clearing, a new room
in a living mansion

the trunks of trees swell
and feel ancient

I sit up against one,
calling it my bedroom

I intend to stay foreverβ€”
we could be hermits


we wade in tall grass
bright young green

it smells fresh and warm
rises to our fingertips

when we emerge at last
on the path worn flat

we notice scores of ticks
climbing our legs,

brush them off in panic,
and never return
Edward Alan
Written by
Edward Alan  New York, NY
(New York, NY)   
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