Cedar

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Needle
by
needle,
the forest pricks my skin
to remind me I’m still alive,
and drafts of winter
crawl up my sleeves,
warning me to stay awake
because

the world doesn’t end when I close my eyes.

Dreams take form in the fresh, splintered air,
while my mind clears the mist,
so I’m able to climb
where I can feel
your auras,
hiding amongst
the leaves.

I see
you’re scared
to reveal
your true colors
before the spirits.

Darkness wavers
with the dewdrops of the
sorrow and sparrow wings
we’ve shed below the soil layers.

But I promise if you try
the shadows will do no harm.

They only reflect the other half of you:
empty and alone,
searching for someone
to grant you life,
a whiff of reassurance,
that everything will be okay
in these woods
no one has ever claimed for themselves.

Branch
by
branch,
the smell of cedar
emanates
as I suspect
you coming
closer to my bones,
aching erythronium;
lavish lotus spells.

When I’m upon
the crown
of the
tallest tree,
I wait
longingly
for your voice
to touch the sky
and then
send sensations
of red
where

love develops deep
within the roots—
the nerves, the fireflies
that make us human.

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2 thoughts on “Cedar

  1. So much can be discerned from memory and thought through the olfactory responses to a cedar.I like your use of fireflies here – the tiny fires that are within all of us.

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