santos scribes

like the backs of your hands 

I know these woods

have lived them

an acre each of the days before 

overstanding fundamentally 

what is amiss, at stake 

your hands frames of fine art 

their palms; a steady, silken roadmap 

I study to forget what I know   

(I am the lean-to and the wooded forest that surround it; 

the refuge and the maker-of-the-storms 

and still, I have not yet found  

a way to wander out.) 

one creature 

cannot carry nor bear 

the terror or the solace 

of this nameless place  

a l o n e  

even the Aranea (air-a-knee-a) need a witness 

I know you feel it- 

when I’ve slipped away 

when I’ve lost touch 

left you spun and 

stranded in my 

fumy, spiritous mists*  

a web of my own weaving   

and I’d like to tell you, “I’m sorry” 

only I’d always rather you know the truth  

about this poem

i was born to these woods, live them even now, still.

*these three words however beautifully strung together were first written this way by Sylvia Plath in her poem “The Moon and the Yew Tree” . Sylvia’s poem as well as some other poems + pieces were inspiration for my poem above. thanks for reading xo, s.