the tallest of treetops are my temple arch
and there are cyclamen, snowdrops, lining my path
through this frost-frozen forest, dewdrops, grass, as stained glass
rising incense, the scent of sea air and wildflowers.
i’ve got silver birch bones, and i’ve paper thin skin
and near-transparent, i’ve a heart that lets everything in
so with lichen as lace, i’ll go wandering this place,
seek the shadow and shade of each meadow and glade.