the last piece of tree
before he leaves for the
night.
somewhere in a forest
she falls asleep
the only whisper
in her ear
the sound of her fears
and the wind between
her legs...
calling them.
they are calling them,
home.

somewhere,
God paints a figure
painting a figure, naked
like the new dawn
up on a podium
is a new heart.
it is small.

he leaves and the
crisp red of autumn
brushes his holy ankles
as he walks down the street
.
the cars seem weird there.
but the leaves seem right.
she
is in the forest.

somewhere, boots come
together to tread
on stage
to break glass
and announce: something
has been made.
he says he wants
to hold it,
but they both shy away.

she is brave.
the wrap around the page
keeps her sane
when the whispers
turn to howling
screams.
she is in the forest
of her dreams,
yet still
she scours
for a way to leave.