the primal forests hostage. the sky singed
w/ swirling particles.
the leaves of grass are leaving—O,
glint to which i’ve bent. blood pooling
on the asphalt.
From 'O, Whitman' by Kathleen Hellen
aboutplacejournal.org/issues/the-g...
aboutplacejournal.org
Kathleen Hellen – The Ground Beneath Us – About Place Journal