a slip of flame wags like a red-tailed fox
o’er candlewick sill in the moonlight box
sets ghost birds aflight in lucent flocks
o’er vespertine forest and druidic rocks
the road yonder runs thither throughout the ages
its footprints tell the story of hatchling sages
from trees bedangled with their birthing cages
open, in spirals, zig-zagging in stages
no questions, no answers, just a mystery play
of knotted roots, weaved wood and branching splay
and the thin, shrill cry of a sleepless jay
from dusk covered verdure and vertebrae
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021
