The Adapted Poem by Luca Menin
The Adapted
In prickly bramble
of berries' roses
in dove's nest
of pitch and straws
with thorns like knives
cutting their way not painfully but gracefully.
I bleed.
My grief flows
through the soil deep
like a wound that heals
stretching my roots underground
flawed adapting,
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4/25/2024 8:45:38 AM # 1.0.0.1119
stretching my roots underground. good one.