Woodland Grove

And your dark, knotted hair falls,

   trailing along and settling

        in the crevice of collarbone,

ravine of spine, 

                          and depth of heart.


Curling like the faintest

    of hollowed vines,

back around the trunk of you --

      trailing into soul

                         and settling

                                   at the roots.

Posted in response to the challenge Spring: Writing Contest.



15 years old

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