Woodland

Woodland

A grove

the ground is soft pink

a fleshy clay

mauve in its intensity

Flowers abound

flowers o’keefe

A heady sweaty scent

musky thick

envelopes the air

My dark meadow can surround you

In and out of its path you may wander

exploring

Mountain

Temple of Venus

is in the horizon

Beyond

my oyster at the mouth of a river

Fold it open

and caress my living pearl

Let me take your hand

and point you in the right direction

Let me also taste the sap

trickling from the tree in your forest

and feel you grow

in my woodland

August 1993

Tressa Lee Breen