“don’t quiver”, the tree said
but the girl didn’t know if it was talking about her body or the cloying weight of arrow’s scent on her back
liberation and forbearance promised to be an easy shoot, fruit and famine from equal root

everything before her opened into bags of ashes then spread over lawns already over-flowing
in semi-fried leaves and medium-rare despair
noise got the better of her, and on the trees approach she fell to the ground before before an invisible stampede of mindless roses
lifted her to the sky after turning her into a thousand pieces of silver








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