Hibernal

The branches hold me

and I am lost inside their knuckles

stroked by wrinkled leaves;

we are coarse and calloused, dear one

and these days are hollowing.

whisper to me:

the cold is not yet over

but neither are you.

“When it comes to art it's important not to hide the madness.” - Atticus

Listening to: anything - Adrianne Lenker