(Photo: Kit Perriman)
In solitary non-compliant places
the Mystica rise
against the gravitational tug of nature
thwarting mortal will.
Gnarly limbs that grasp into consciousness
press the rub of time.
Their fingers grapple the swollen currents –
blasted and empty –
swimming away from treacherous sandbanks,
unchecked by any tide.
A mysterious spell-binding graciousness
captivates the eye
and highlights the worn skeletal echoing
of constant pressure.
Their branches lie bare of verdant feathering
yet will bloom again
as they wrestle the constant drownings that
sap land-locked spirits.
Look! Out of even dead apparitions spring
promises of fresh life.
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