• Vol. 06
  • Chapter 08
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Oh, but look at the braintree bleeding! Meyoublue tree,
redredred of my head. My mind is branches,
a dreamer of wooden veins. Tipsy hat,
cap to trap the blustered leaves, keep lidded on my pain.
Turn away and cry from where she boughbows, hooks
her body upon the grass, shadowcast. Weepywillow
she makes me. Shewillnot, shewillnot.
She was not tempted by roots.
She will stand all saplingslim when I am gone,
or lay herself beneath the gentle shade. Or dance.
I will not know. I wonder if she will leave the shape
of an angel on the ground?
I am a curse of ferns.
I am walking away with copsescar on my face.
I drear a brooch of sadpool from my unsmiled eye.
The ring burns a hole on my heart.