Teeming With Purities

Teeming with purities,

our forestry illumined by the try,

and puritan glass

that nestles in our leaves,

profusely bleeding Light

like the Kingdoms are real,

and the crunch of the powders,

the icicle’s sand, that is the sound

that is issued from under each foot

of the placeless spirit, traveller

who carves a wooden path

through our frost-bound canopies

and leaves us

to be loosened by the Wind,

unvaulted and opened,

the creatures of twilight to come

and ravage our bodies,

suck from our ancient bones

the sap of infidelities,

unleash from the record of tree rings

stored in our make

the flourishing grace we were,

before winter, she blinded our eyes

to the flaming accord of our surreal destiny.