Building 45

Literary/Arts Journal

Black is the Forest

by Nastazia Stevens

Black is the forest
When I think of black…
My paws kiss sweet winter’s damp night.
The mother moon’s heavenly rays shine.
Shine on the black slick water a river’s winter cold bath.
Through Trees shadows, given life as they dance in her light.
Tree’s tower around like giants their crowns being kissed by Stars
My frustration gone with every step that touches the earth’s snowy crisp plain.
The word WOLF is my name.