The Clearing

Seized by the shutter of your mind's eye: You and I— costumed in bed sheetsrun (poorly disguised) past the summer people's sign inscribed DO NOT ENTER.

Burnt spruce trees haunt the clay road. We dodge their condescending glances and travel uphill to a place familiar

Let's circle in silence again three times around the rose-colored farmhouse, courting shuttered windows left longing to follow.