Thinned Larch, or What If a Body Lost Its Leaves by Michael Goodfellow

Thinned Larch, or
What If a Body Lost Its Leaves

Needles storm weak,
wind bent, sky turned,

it lost everything
again, barked spire,

stone pinched,
roots a plate

chalky with want.
It nearly wasn’t,

just a rock lip
where the wind caught

part of the world,
thin enough

to hand cut, arm
to trunk. Bone soft,

it broke clean
again and again—

by Michael Goodfellow

Instagram: @camfirenotes

Editor’s Note: This imagistic poem invites the reader to imagine instead of reason within an emotional narrative.