In my most vulnerable and dilapidated moments, I call out with a powerless cry to the forest for limbs to grasp and break my fall
The timbers are weak, the cry is yielding
Birds are silently watching
It is in this moment when the limb cracks and I already feel the fall coming
My hand clenching the limb bursts into flames
burning the limb, trunk and finally the tree to the ground
Replenished
a new life is able to grow from the strength of the tree that was
Tone was found, I can stand silently in the forest
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