I’ve decided the leafy path is too straight. I want
to get my hands on these papery trees, zig-zag
my way through their skins. The year’s all spill
-ed out in golden crimson veins and squint of sky
and I am skipping. To. From. Bent-bark dancing:
me, myself and I. Do you hear the rustle of my
hope? It hums. It strums itself through knotholes
and silvered trunk. It’s drunk on all that ever (after)
that could be. Follow me. We’ll thrum this year in
wonder, wander it loose. Free. The way it ought to be.
Mish is inspiring us with some incredible artists over at dVerse Poetics. Come play!