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.
“singed ser-/pents taking flight in curls of moon” – this is beautiful.
True north “has lost its sway” – isn’t that the truth?
I love the way you changed the meaning with each new line. “your tongue invites the winter wind” is powerful … it can be a dangerous thing, can’t it? Love the imagine of a cinnamon raft carried up to the moon by serpents! Gorgeous mythology.
This is lovely: “curls of moon.
Peel her loose to center and find true” … I like that “her” could refer to the moon or the boat or the girl in the boat. Or the moon or boat could represent an actual woman whose core is worth exploring. I’m also impressed with your “beau/ty” split. I like the hidden thoughts in the last line: Be that. Beloved. It’s May. Thank you.