Gratitude
The Hunt in the Forest
In love with the passion of it in another perspective —The Hunt in the Forest moves her in a weird way. Stencil like flushing of the strength in weakness peely wallpaper adorn the wall, youth picks at its corners —curious a child who knows only comfort, to young to know what's behind each tree so I tell her love . She picks away more to see a blank wall stare back then enters with nary a peep or chirp of birds, no dogs, horses or men a foot in tights, no patterned trees. It starts with emptiness, I say. Fragile as the hummingbird cupped tightly in her desquamating hands peeling back the layers.
By Gerry Thibeault24 days ago in Poets
