Peering beyond the understory:
a Victorian *******
of square topiaries
white pavement
marbled fringe,
the visionary leaps
into the crisp chlorine
freezing in an iceblock
if she remains til she is grey.

But she crawls out
of this boxed madness,
emotional baggage
forcefully drilled into Her womb.
She emerges from a pond
in a wooded world remote
yet available to all who seek it.
An unsure path
to the cottage
where the witch works her wondrous magic
bringing birds and butterflies
to aid in potion incantations
She mows no lawns.
She knows the name of every leaf and berry.
She sows them in her sleep