Pasithea

Skeletal reflection, pall of trees' wintering,

roots turned of the world's disgorgement.

Our motherland of electricity devoured,

grand scars reaching out from the dark.

And the soft fingers of the Lady touch,

with neither fear, nor emptiness – approach.

Bearing all upon which it stands, now,

and scattered – breathless the wind.

Arms torn from the canopy, awaiting –

in barren light, pulled to its movement.

The rattling in each stem uprooting, growth;

time fetching all born suns, shades returning.

Still, the trees staring, nuthatches lined like birth;

Peering out from scars of time, carved out of bleak cold.

This, the chasm of horizons, eye of night's kingdom –

bones give rise now, like sirens tearing from hearts.