The sentinel of the bois-D’arc grove
silently sailing
through the cathedral of winding
branches
tempting us
shhh, listen
come closer
enchanting us from across the distance
he perches hidden above

Dripping golden tendril trees
seductively glisten
as fingers of light drawing
limbs
looking up
mmm, reach
resurface
drawing us from the watery deep
dark clouds prophesy from a distance


A long, lofty teapot grave
quickly teeming
where the deciduous rotting
offshoots
decay
decomposing us
aaaah, release
return
steeping our very substance
torrents of rain sink into the dry earth


The flicker of light up ahead
luminously darts
while the dusky paling
boughs
becon
exhorting us
oh, follow
seek
remembering the pulse
that held my great, great grandmother in the womb.

Response to Day 2 of NaPoWriMo 2023