SCENT

A woman sprints through a forest

ahead of lightning and hail,

her laughter mad as thunder,

skin the essence of wildflower,

leaf and needle,

hair a rain shower

on nude shoulders.

 

When she suddenly arrives

through swirling curtains

she fills the room with a mix

of cool air and pine,

dives wet and breathless

into my early morning sleep.

 

She’s been running

since the beginning of time

and I’m honored that she’s chosen

to settle this early morning

in my bedroom of fresh light.

 
 
 
 
 

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