In the ever-silence of these woods
She is still screaming
With peeling lips—
Removing every trace of him,
and his terrible rooms

She looks to the trees
As though they are haunting her
The heaps of broken limbs
Seem to disturb her

She speaks with such frailness
Was I?
I tell her I do not know
And she looks to the trees again
Asking them softly,
Was I?
And the brittle whispers of their limbs
Are her murky answer

She walks on in her dream—
A shivering wraith she has become
Her flesh is of the moon
Her pale body remains in a holocaust
And she thinks of herself as dead,
at times.

She will always return to the heaven of the woods
To nestle in her hauntings there—
She wants the woods to remember
Though they sleep in decay
Forever she asks them,
Was I?