Stars are dropping thick as stones into the twiggy
Picket of trees whose silhouette is darker
and from all selfsubtracting hugely doom
treasures of reeking innocence are born
Inspect the colder distances, the far
Escape of your whole universe to night;
That watch the moon's blue craters, shadowy crust,
Ballooned in ghostly earnest on your sight
It is your hope that you will know the end
The woods are a well. The stars drop silently.
*Words and evoked images borrowed from Sylvia Plath, e.e. cummings, and Edgar Bowers.
Written for dVerse Poets where Samual Peralta has us mixing others' words with Form For All: Collage and the Art of Cento. Great Fun!