Laine Derr 

To the Woods 

To the woods I went so my bones could breathe. 
It’s warm. It’s summer. Paradise smells of moss. 
 
If I named the mountain, then it’d be yours,  
raw, swallowed whole, my heart sliding sweet 
through a body unknown. They come to me,  
those of loss, fire and faith. My lover has no teeth,  
I hear them weep – flat, smooth stones skipped   
across a sun-bled lake, crawdads pinched in back- 
ward submission, rainbow trout (cold-water chorus  
lulled by shimmering firs) gutted, lemoned, foiled.