graeae

conceivably hickory
big and open wide
like perfectly husked carya fruits
the softness of the tree nut

or even feasibly the colour of pennies
the monetary value found buried like treasure, a pirate’s trade
enshrouded tones deep
in the sapience of their shade

tears
washed up in spume
itinerant
in endless flumes

blossom to shadow-drained soil
and fresh blooms of basal
burgeon of wild thoughts like weeds
drunken potions of eysell

the platforms of your dreams
coarse fibers shout and scream
the reason hell is empty
because the devils are all here