At the beginning of spring, she
Carefully divides her old lovers,
Thawed first, into quarters, and
Buries them under the roots of
The enormous treees that circle
Her clearing in the forest, where
She sleeps almost all winter long
Unless the lost wind wakes her
With the force of his fear, and she
Has to save him.
Her task complete, she sits dead
Centre in the round and smokes
Her first pipe of the year, waiting
For the next lover to arrive, some
Hopeful misguided youth.
R 16/03/2023 20:52