The Woman of The Wilds

Her faces is the picture
of Victorian beauty
veiled with
the dark of night
the black sand on the banks of some cold river
the smeared ash of a blistering flame
leading into the roots
of a thin copse of trees
twigs and branches extend
from the top of her head
the chaos of the wilds.

Birds float between them
hopping in strange little jumps
from branch to branch
twisting their heads
from side to side at impossible angles
to inspect the obscure.

They search for a beginning
a comfortable understanding
a place where they can nestle in.


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