POETRY

Sanctuary

Beneath an ancient oak tree

Photo by John Mccann on Unsplash

I sat down with the old tree
there on a blanket she had woven
of clovers and sweet violets
where the fat bees cobble about.
She wrapped me in her scented boughs
and gently held all parts of me:
the flesh, the brittle pieces,
the embers, the salt water and the bone;
with soft and steady breaths she blew
the shadows from my shoulders
and asked only in return of me…