• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 12
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Today I take your key
and walk to meet no one.
A lone tree is standing in the park,
purpling red in shadow
by the wire fence. Bloody, but
kind of beautiful. Grown into wound.
A terrible rot is setting into her.  I trace splinters
bitten by winds when a limb snapped and fell.
Her trunk is hollowed; a heart opened up
like a horrid rose. They will cut her down
and cut her down. I see your reflection
on winter's dead heel and think
of the cold home we once shared, waiting.  
Spring dew is trembling; the idea of July too much.