Come Home, You Are Missed

Alone in a forest pitted and rotted. Arborian pillars rising knuckled and grey, to neck-cramping heights. So much happens at once. Bark hanging like sack-cloth from sweeps of bone, like empty flesh. Branches shorn, stripped of greenery, stripped of dignity. The naked ground pestled barren. Unearthed roots strewn and dying. Privacy is priceless to me.