The Trees Breathe
for me in the silence of the sky . . .
As I claw my way about this jungled past, I land
too rooted to freely believe the light[‘s life] can reach me.
I am my own camouflage – bleeding streams of [ever]green
denial to cover my tracks. I desire the stagnant
steam of this other dawn. It clings to my lungs –
a muffling glove – but does not dare to trip my mind. Up
is blind: a f[l]ightless border I dare not crowd. I gather
weeds (possibly) to seed wings, but my arms
are ti[r]ed. To the wind
I scream: Nothing is balanced! Backward,
I stumble over [star?]crossed beams. Of blight
or sight . . . whichever is able to keep me
solid[ly nailed to the floor].
A.J. Huffman is a poet and freelance writer in Daytona Beach, Florida. She has previously published four collections of poetry: The Difference Between Shadows and Stars, Carrying Yesterday, Cognitive Distortion, and . . . And Other Such Nonsense. She has also published her work in national and international literary journals such as Avon Literary Intelligencer, Writer's Gazette, and The Penwood Review. Find more about A.J. Huffman, including additional information and links to her work at http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000191382454 and https://twitter.com/#!/poetess222.
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