Woods

Go back and find the pressing mouth
asleep on the forest floor
under the crush of it all,
layered crust of musky leaves,
brown, rust, damp as
the creases of his eyelids,
that crinkled map,
that flip of heart,
the smiling elm with jagged teeth,
the yellow birch’s bark removed
to scribble the story’s ending:
a scarlet dripping canopy,
soft, suffocating sound.