Scrape deep the inner bark and bite
your tongue, invite the winter winds
to sweep you far. This craft is that of
true cinnamon, spice and winged ser
-pents taking flight in curls of moon.
Peel her loose to center and find true
north has lost its sway, a highly prized
fine inscription no longer read. Come on
in, the water’s fine, and fading, all beau
-ty and beloved. Be that, as it may.