Essence of yew tree burning in the veins
Ancient harbinger now life bringer
At a price. Dark traceries up my arm
Like the poison in a sword fantasy.
Bone-break ache, muscle fever,
Sleepless nights, but these fade,
All fade but the grim tracery in my veins
My hair turns loose, covers my pillow
In lost vanity and after a few days
I shave it all away; still, strength enough
For a real hike among arroyo willows,
Cottonwoods. I can get out of bed
Most easily,
Now it’s time for round two.
Author: Duncan MacNae
Exiled Gael, scion of the Dust Bowl, dweller within Divine Grace, admirer of mountains, I have made my peace with trout and the starlings. Looking for a river and healing trees.
duncanmacduncan5@gmail.com
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