it was the rising
that was hardest that day

so i just laid there
beneath the sighing pines,

letting flakes weep & blend
wet on my skin

the chimney smoke drifting
with the ashes I’d come
to roll in

& again, i was lichen
on longing’s misted glow
:
  .
& somehow
tears
fell more silent
than snow

By: Katy Claire Funke

featured image by aditya vyas via unsplash

6 thoughts on “the pine

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