I remembered who took me
into their dark kingdoms, before
breathing fire among my trees.
They fell branches by the dozen;
grappling with nothing but darkness—
least doom.
As if all had never heard insects’ thoughts.
So, she slept on a stone bed of white
lichens between night and  
morning stars; small birds
vanished seeds tenderly  
around her light water skirts.
River pockets do moths work; floated
back in better thought—
Earth rose full; at times perfect.  
Arranging something luminous.
Author's Note
Assembled for the "Poetic Medic #2: To The Poem's Rescue" competition.

A labor of love and a challenge that I truly found joy in.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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Nari Tallen
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