The Tree of Life

Her stained toes clutch to the narrow cliff-edge.
Prepared, crumbled stone trickle softly down
the overhang. Tap tap tap, a musical echo drops like
blood from the crucified lesions punctured over her crown.

“Go!” the cruel wind blows, his arm the hem of her dress
pointing east, a guide to follow the stones.
A cool sting pricks over her pierced skin painted, abstract
slashes of red over her legs that shudder her weak bones.

An exhausted sigh thunders from her bruised chest, escaping,
quaking soundwaves electrify over the earth. She closes her eyes.
“No one cares,” he blowed, trumpeting apocalypse bellows
through the storm, convincing this leap of faith toward her demise.

The ligneous branch pinches the back of her neck, stopping, no
longer dropping as He hoists and cradles her back. Swooned,
a bride submitting for the first time under the shadow of His trunk.
His emerald foliage kissing drops of ointment over her wounds.

A growing cushion of grass crochets patterns on her healing skin,
distilled oils juice from sweet smelling resin that palliate
the mourning. His leaves gently stroke over her aching chest,
ecstatic awakening, frozen that unfolds a delighted state.

Fingers of black moulded loam unearth from the roots below,
blanketing over as He draws her in, enraptured, tears of love
captured by the soil as she sinks into the ground. Her kernal heart
cracking seeds that sprout a new tree into the heavens above.