She heard her dry branch cradle cracking.
The earth rose up to meet her.
Pine needles fell like confetti. They sharpened her hair. They stung her cheeks.
She held the scent in her nose.
Her wounds were bright jewels in sticky settings of sap.
A cloud crossed the moon. She tried to stand.
Her feet would not.
She made a new bed against the trunk.
The owls watched her sleep.
