Sun Stained
Kelli Lage
Sun stained moss,
grips the lumberjack’s splendor.
When sunrise stumbles forward
the honeyed earth looks so sweet.
I could bite into the golden ground.
Beneath my fingernails,
dew rests.
My youth mirrored
in the stomping of a school of ants.
Queen Anne’s lace
wraps around me like a nightgown.
A robin’s egg cracks open
and the woodlands rejoice.
Evening slithers in and
sets the horizon ablaze.
Guided home by the light
dancing on the tips of my boots.
I sing prayers
that the moon may melt and
drip into my dreams tonight.
