Blood Rite
Stepping out into the wild next door
I walk with ungraceful strides over the ferns and through the witch hazel
in the place of four bears
sometimes my footsteps cross their tracks
and nothing is familiar
except maybe the mosquitoes
my bare arms are not bear arms
the sentinel pines offer no protection
while I wander in large circles over mossy rocks
the wild watches me in spreading awareness
a fly caught in a gossamer strand
and twisted trunks smile in wry amusement
the mosquitoes draw her price from me a thousand times
and my arms are itchy scars
Nature is a blood rite.
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