Wildwood

Unseen yet still waiting,

a winter fur coat

found before its time.

 

Separated from wilderness,

the forest’s vermillion autumn

lingers.

 

It remembers glass moons

a promise of frost on the breath

the surging roar of a hunt.

 

Now

confined to darkness for half a year or more.

The height of fashion, hardly regal.

 

Lauren Conroy