She came back from where
she had wandered
through twisted trees
with the scent of an orchard
on her breath.
She showed me a tongue
stained with crushed berries
unseen black birds
had planted in her thoughts.
No matter how hard I tried
to chase the black birds away,
her pupils widened
to let them back in,
her palms opened upward
to release their ashen forms
into the cold night air.