waxing_crescent raze i carved poems into the pale skin of fledgling poplar trees, dented the dark diamonds of their pores, and felt the forest floor sag beneath my swollen feet. no sloth or wolf wailed a word to warm me. something small and serpentine led me to you. and in the soft bloom of a meagre moon, i knew i'd found a friend. 261014 what's it to you? who go blather from