She found a piece of seashell. Under a bit of moss and brushed it off.
She thought of waves crashing into the birches.
Elms
Naked oaks
Going up a mountain was easier with wings.
She met a woodworker. He said he believed in purpose.
I work purposefully and I resign
My father’s father did not pass this on
She walked her way down. Sprouts breaking, mushrooms fuming under her feet.
The world was not on fire
But dust burning in a sunbeam
Or screaming
Rearing, apropos zenith, she grinned
I’m a centaur!
The centaurs were grazing close by.
Their legs, their joints!
They look like
The trees, their joints!
Are ancient
Your hooves are solid. My feet are shaped by the winding branches I climb
From the top of a tree she could see the sky changing colour
The faint moon as a deep bowl
In the mountains, the woodworker and approaching
Creatures she’d never seen before.
Below:
Snakeskin left
Dewdrops perfectly round
—
