Stretched in the stippling light
of a copse sewn with secrecy,
I have hidden a minatory forest
with a wink of imploding sight.
To dwell on the knobbly remains,
green transmitters emboldened,
is to grasp the paws of a goblin
to receive its deeds compressed.
In the whorls of spiraling hands
are written the thicket's delays:
Through taproots made transfers
to scribe an arboreal glaze.
Laminant of the quiet hours,
Glimpsed, the humblest shine—
Of morning kissed by dewdrops,
Of evening fierce, divine.
