Wandering

Wandering

She wanders cold and naked 

Through the ancient, dark forest.

Neither light nor warmth touches her breast,

Blood drips where spiky undergrowth scratches her legs, 

And tangled vines trip her toes,

Calling of an unseen bird in the far distance, 

Crashing and snorting behind her,

But   she   does   not   stop. 

She does not stop. 

Touching trembling, black bark of tree,

Feels water rising … rising. 

Joins the water, joins the impossible rising.

Up   up   up  toward the sunlight of blue sky,

Spilling out of leaves 

Becoming rain falling toward green earth

In the unknown, waiting world.

(c) Joyce Wycoff, 2013