Sin
under the canopy of primordial forest, a wild fern grows nestled
into the less-known path where exigencies take on diffused light
and rainwater trickles its descent, scalloping patterns of colour;
have you ever heard a fern crow with green feathers, sleek against
the sky, as if rocks could sing of joy and the only sin is not being here?
Copyright © Anna Ruiz | Year Posted 2011
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