Try harder
To prise me from the wood,
And somehow from me
Grow windbreak branches.
Separate fingers
On horse chestnut trees.
Green digits spray-painted,
Diffused over old wood,
Toxins curdled but firmly sealed,
<figuratively falling>
Splayed and ready to break
Your fall,
No winter injury.
In our decline
Make me something.
Part my fingers
And pull up my chin,
I break out for you, again,
Bursting,
I dress for spring.
|
Submission Name: Scorch
