Trees set fire to the forest,
dark red like deep wounds,
orange ablaze, moving now,
the wind’s fingers find her
under yellow leaves, her eyes
recognize reflections in the water,

and she takes this trail again,
in spirals less dizzying,
in gravel and root,
up stony paths and
wooden stairs she steps
over leaves the colour of flames,

she starts to listen as the earth
whispers where she’s going
and where she’s always been,
footsteps steady as her heart
over bridges burning by the shore,
leaves rustling and water lapping,

stopping at the edge, it warns
that she must move to be reborn,
ripples ride across the surface,
circles beyond circles in her mind,
as each ring travels outward
connecting time to silence,

so she dies every night, her story
unfolding under stars and heavens
that long ago left her alone,
settling in cold space, emptiness,
a vacuum of sound and air,
and in the morning, she rises.

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