Ghost Trees of Pescadero

of basketweaving vitex... 

under lavender long forgotten

with the breeze in that chastetree,

faraway fruit of the poison tree,

throwback maneater rests beautifully broken

in her paleness of day and night tears,

she stands out alone among wildflowers. 

magnificent scars like paint strokes

of beauty above the color dimmed towers.

outstretched arms pull compound bow arched

of no word. nameless tight aim flight of fancy

lacework on this vast watershed of fears,

yeet arrowhead spears the cliffs

pierce open, closed, or hyphenated.

downing breakbumpers, fluid jaguar

thinks of thousand disasters, emerald hearts

of ill-fated lovers, songs of revolution,

of hope, of redemption, of hugs filled with fire.

picked flowers, vesta of hearthstones

ident focus in vases to meditate on pain.

battleground chaste landowner mired

at the tree take three steps at the x

turn towards a natural hearthsong

on the bruised road back to power.

shadows side trap sidepiece of venison,

succulent backstrap, tenderloins. 

whiteflies, white lies flayed dim tower

that color her blood between azure

and emerald, back to grapevine tension. 

no long-term-solutions for hellraisers 

focusing on existential threats,

she stands frail dancing on that precipice.

17 miles the lone cypress

lost a limb, beach cove sands dust sharkfin,  

outstretched thunderbird urn scatter ashes 

blinded with silence in ghost trees of Pescadero, 

the lady of lace calls the wind... 

brokenness–