I hear you keening in the woods,
two nights, three nights,
plaintive and primal.
My bed is lit by the light of a laptop.
Your bed is lit by the moon.
Between us is board and glass
once part of your trees and rock.
Landscape with locks and windows.
You are wildness, electric.
I shut my eyes and let your wail enter.
Sound penetrates everything
down to the core.
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