my dear one, my white–tailed deer, my jonathan apple and neuron fire—do you see these nettles I am holding? when we have midwinter, I think we have sadness too, like used confetti—a blanched asterisk under the glaze. this year has not been kind. awhile, I shook like jewelry, a beam refracting— iridescent and damaged. my strength never enough to get us through this fierce, eternal stretch of pine woods and pine boxes for every cadaver. the screaming begins again. I am mum, my hair lustering like confectioner’s sugar. let me ask you where to go for blessedness. sustain me in the vein, in the vine with chlorophyll—to be a lush, expectant seedling.
