Sun Stained

Friday, November 27, 2020

Sun stained moss,
grips the lumberjack's splendor. 
When sunrise stumbles forward
the honeyed earth looks so sweet.
I could bite into the golden ground.
Beneath my fingernails,
dew rests. 
My youth mirrored
in the stomping of a school of ants.
Queen Anne's lace
wraps around me like a nightgown. 
A robin's egg cracks open
and the woodlands rejoice.
Evening slithers in and
sets the horizon ablaze.
Guided home by the light
dancing on the tips of my boots.
I sing prayers
that the moon may melt and
drip into my dreams tonight. 

This poem was published in Nightingale and Sparrow's 8th issue, "Woodland."

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