Laura Heilman

January sunshine rolls through 

the clouds like an old god, 

so many details lost but still longed for. 

My hand presses against my chest

Beneath the squeezing crush of my throat

Above the beating rush of my heart.

Acorns underfoot,

Branches lacing through the winter sky,

I am an oak tree in this meadow…

Sacred

Impermanent 

For a second, but forever.