The barren land cracked beneath my feet
Like paper soaked then dried in the sun.
It was a hot winter,
The snowy vein of ice glowed blue vitriol
As flame spread over dry timber.
And there, alone, the gnawing wind
Paraded naked through the trees,
Heedless for the propriety measured out during the day
Beyond the recess of the doors I abandoned
To listen and mull and ponder in the crook of this tree,
Overlooking the magnitude of my life,
So precious and busy and ever fulfilled
I dined on the silky taste of stew
And woke as the queen of the forest.