my marrow is now toxic with clove & nag champa
I’m convinced the ground is not, in fact, lava
but wisps of candle smoke spilling from the trees
the air here is rich with damp bark, drenched earth, amanita
I lie at the base of the fox hearth, all cozied up & guessing
pebbles & branches marking my soft back
I exhale all the built-up chimney soot, cedarwood, mold spore
take in the warm vapour pouring in from the sun rays
close your eyes, dear—the wind is ripe &
nipping
Clover O’Mordha (they/them) is an emerging poet currently studying at The University of Akron. They are pursuing an MFA in poetry and enjoy cays, books, thrifting, & tofu pudding.