Sonnet #278

The woods are a sacred place, but like all holies

The woods will take your blood, your body

It will drain you, and devour you slowly,

So remember to dress for this church, properly

Wear boots, and tuck your pants into them

Wear long sleeves, a hat, bring water, a small knife

Or, if you’re really going on a pilgrimage, then

a big knife, a big axe, bring food, prepare for strife

We left these forests, once, recall, and we killed

wolves enough to scare them off, killed bears

enough to make them skittish. The trees will

welcome us home, but they will rend and tear

Where we hold each other. There will be blood,

Ticks. There will be the suffering of roots.

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