Grasping a tree
Her arms stretched back
Her skin grey as the tree
Her eyes wide and dark
She begs:
Do not take me to the light!
She comes from the deep of the woods
She warns that the light: it kills
From the safety
Of the night
She chances
To the last tree
Of the forest
And from that solitary lookout
She finds that
When day returns
She is trapped
Within a net
Of shadow
Light breaks the path
From her tree
Into her forest
As the sun
Rises from behind the woods
She finds her realm
Shrinks ever faster
Now she is in a small pool
The sun directly above
She tells me:
No! the sun it kills
She shows me her arm
Rough like bark
But begs that
I come no nearer
I take a mirror
And reflect light
To her face,
Half expecting she vanish
I see that
Her skin is fair
And her arm
Red with blister
I explain that
Before night
The long arm
Of the tree will
Reveal a path
To her woods
Then I sit
On the grass
In the sun
And watch
The wraith's face
I awake and find
In the evening
She is gone
I walk into the woods
Chasing after shadow
And circle
But I find
Nothing of her
But night
When the leaves
First betray a star
And its fingers
Pull apart the branches
I walk back
To her tree
And stare
As she stares
Away from the dawn
I watch as the sky
Falls from its purples
Into a battle with clouds
Of reds, pinks, and blues
And finally
I watch the dark set
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem