by Lynne Sargent
I have been staring at vines for weeks,
their sticky paws latch
onto their walls
indiscriminately in love,
whether stone, or wood, or cement
after death, turning red, black
supported by the fallen lengths
of their body.
I have been brushing past them,
their protruding leaves
in search of purchase,
desperate only in their frequency
hearing their song;
Lynne Sargent is a writer, and circus artist based in the Hamilton area. She holds an MA in philosophy from McMaster University, specializing in bioethics. She is a lover of all things fey, strange, and bloody. She is a novice writer, specializing in poetry and fairytales.