#within sound

I bleed from where the branch should be

sticky sap on the moon of inner thigh

protected by soft bark paling

lightning

risen from charcoal root

fallen from night sky

know by the blood soaked earth

this is my wassail

to return to an empty harvest

restart small again

hidden in long grass

the whisper when air breathes

we are not too far

crawl from the foxhole

steady hands hold a green acorn

ready to be seen