I’m reaching –
these hands
guards against fire.
Knotholes grabbing
midnight sound,
wings are dead.
Feline guests lie
on my arms.
You. Asking …
“Why are you here?”
You.
Slashing my skin.
For you.
My skin weeps.
Jennifer, Turcotte. "Dark Trees."14 April 2009. Picture. Blogger. 14 May 2009. https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga9oC_32McwmOxs2xmR76DK3pVDH6n9sOdGnEsC4jdsSgTuN6qhT_8L6XpHJOJ5OTCzx2LtAoH_IN5lLCcNW640nHrqtKLo_310CSKq81RE2AGc55bbSq37vyy0NUPEU7MTu02etq1lYQ/s1600-h/DSCF0120.JPG
