Also Journal

The trees are old
The birds are dead
The flowers – dried
She is the guardian of what once was alive

Dressed in seeds
and leaves and branches
Half woman half tree
Half plant half me
She drips
she licks
(shockingly slow)
The foliage gives cover
Like a leaky
      raincoat

A forest could be a cemetery of plants
but without the funerals – for what is dead
must come to life.

Marte Boneschansker