Her Wildness Will Preserve the World Darkness eddies the forest floor in bands of shade, sprinkled like bitter chocolates. She tremolos wildflowers. Fluttered hands, cool fingers, string bracelets of dew droplets. Beneath black walnuts, her feet make no sound. Her loose wisteria sun dress rippling the deep green. Fine loam, warm as coffee grounds, shadows her toes. She beholds each stripling, then sashays from their paths. Leaving new tracks, she plucks at taut stems like a mandolin, wipes strands from her eyes, picks blue toadflax and sweet woodruff. Her mother weaves them in fairy spuds, wild phlox, and sugar-blond hair. Spring beauty, tossing moxie through dark air.
Matthew Miller
25
