XII: Nest

Somehow certain of divinity
she kneels at several spots along the trail

Clutching a thankfulness
usually reserved for widowed sisters,
the hushed unborn,
and the newly wicked.

Climbing onto familiar limbs
she straddles branches
at first perpendicular
and then settles into her own nest of faith.

The snapping of twigs below
fails to wake the maiden in repose
drawn into deafness
by the temptation of belief.

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