Dec 24, 2025
within sound
I bleed from where the branch should be
sticky sap on the moon of inner thigh
protected by soft bark paling
lightning
risen from charcoal root
fallen from night sky
know by the blood soaked earth
this is my wassail
to return to an empty harvest
restart small again
hidden in long grass
the whisper when air breathes
we are not too far
crawl from the foxhole
steady hands hold a green acorn
ready to be seen
-acklum