Mudlark No. 44 (2011)

Birch Amidst Night Pines

Incendiary white,
the trunk a wound of narrowness
into which one might step
after turning sideways,
the right hand entering first,
then the forearm—
and finally,
just before entering,
not a hesitation, precisely,
but a pause,
as though to admire such reticence
from the outside
for the last time.

Claire Bateman | Mudlark No. 44 (2011)
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