Moon of the Popping Trees | Abigail @notesfromgail

Updated: Feb 24

She looks most comfortable here

- where cold clings to fingers of trees

Snow moon emptying her ice


She comes deliberately seeking me

Drift clearing moon swinging upside our horizon

A scythe freeing anchored crops


Blinded in brilliance of night

Our ears alert to sounds of distress

Chill wrung trees-popping teeth

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