Deep in the forest of the abandoned there is a small light,
very small, a signal really, that it’s time for snow melting
transforming into a stream, and then a river, molding
itself into a surge, growing in strength into a relentless rescue.
Covering, cleansing the ones left for dead, washing them,
until even their screams are erased, and
they can believe in their circulation
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, ancient skies
Peace and blessings to everyone.
“When we love people, we give them hope.”