Linger.
Listen.
in the still of leaf weep,
in the stir of the sap spill,
dryads sigh sotto voce
elegy for the
rootless crownless
souls loosened from
dying trees.
untethered,
they seep into my sleep
vining tendrils of regret,
branches laden with longing
foresting my dreams
with the memory of us
sun drunk
with the quickening tang of winesap.
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Thanks for writing!
Jacqueline