I dye thick curls in cherry pie filling.
If the scent catches your attention…
follow the trail of crunched
up leaves, abandon your clothes
in the tall trees.
I’ll pack down the trail,
the weeds and the dead leaves.
Stale flowers crumble in the breeze.
Around us the moon spills for miles around
I hear nothing but the groaning of trees.
That day, I left my shoes.
Now, nothing retains color, except spidery
blue veins winding up my legs.