if not in your woods?
I burrow nose deep
in dead leaves and silt soil
by the river's edge
Your crows
march wicked sentinel steps
They blow my cover
pluck my eyes
drag me blind
to your lair
Feral friend
I am the interloper
in your land, in you deep
Your ash tree a marker
for my soiled soul spot
In the forest deep
I sleep
-Gillian Cornwall
Copyright 2009
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