“A hawthorn tree stands alone in a ploughed field
the furrows embrace her in her isolation
She sees the world in 360 degrees..........
above..........
below
all wisdom is hers
with her feet in the earth
and her fingers in the air
she feels my footsteps passing by
the clouds stand still.....................
...........while the moon scurries by
she feels my isolation as I wonder why?
am I drawn to her presence
to feel her thorns pierce my wrist
Do I hear a hiss?
the memory persists
angels at her feet
and blood on her lips
I wince and take a sip
my blood is in her berries
she is my crown of thorns
as a lamb to the slaughter....
........my locks are shorn
they tangle in her branches
and I am reborn
I stand alone in a ploughed field
the furrows of her brow
embrace me
in my isolation