Arroyo Creek
by Shannon P. Laws
The death berries are still
The holly berries are hidden
The blackberries I grab by the handful
Bunches unprotected by spiders
not yet eaten by robins
Deeper I travel into this old growth grove
Lay my body down at these roots
of Lady Cedar, she accepts it
Forest floor fingers unknit my soul
Gulliver it down to the creek
I let them
take
me
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