by Holly Prado: death: one clear tone through wood. / here’s the apple tree my family left,
Poem Author: Holly Prado
by Holly Prado: this bird: its thread of green spins / healthily right through the tree’s / large taking-in of sun.
by Holly Prado: the cypress that I pray to: / it can fly. nothing is a single / species. we’re made of bark, then / avalanche. Orpheus can make us anything,