the wordlinks poetry project

darkling wood vi

Every father, every son seems to see in its black heart a stillness nether to the world. But that black heart, it holds within a life that’s slower, yes, I grant; but stronger far than they. Now, moving farther, ever deeper, nearer to the vast black heart, the trees are turning so immense that, groundward, no more beam of light may break its little presence through their palms and branches wide. *