Ghost Tree – Amy Lauren
Moss drapes
my lips. She
says,
tell me what
the river’s like
& my bones melt.
Her hair
smells of mint
& pinecones, only
softly unlaces
her branches.
Swallows fly
singing, cicadas
chirping first calls
as her roots stretch
to vine my body
in her stronghold,
rings multiplying
her circumference
with new lines, each
repeating no,
this isn’t dying yet