torn not shattered

by Linda M. Crate

a wounded hole
rests in
the heart of the wood
echoing the one
the wolf ripped into me
when he took out
the trees
of my heart's garden
used them to
defile another in my name,
i spent so many
months chasing after those stolen
bones that i forgot the
yellow of the laughter dancing
in the autumn trees
trying to dance their sunshine
over me;
so now i stand in the wounded
hole of the forest
letting all of nature embrace
me with her whispers
of water,
laughter in the trees,
songs of the birds fluttering their
wings in the breeze—
i remembered my heart was never
whole, there were always
apertures, but nature endured with her
sweet song and so will i
flying on the wings of the bluest days,
and the most obsidian of nights.