Winged Seeds

She whispered to them all that night, filling their skulls with her dreams. She woke just before dawn, imagining she still stood in a dark wood, cupping her hands to catch winged seeds. The waxing moon lingered as a gold cocoon in the western sky. At sunrise, she led the children to the open door. She looked down proudly at their lengthening branches and leafy crowns. When they saw the six deep holes, they understood. They leaped from the stairs into their marked places, raising their arms to the sun.

Excerpt from "Parchment and Twigs," first published in Text: Ur -- The New Book of Masks, then in Stirring the Mirror. Picture of maple seeds, my yard, 5/1/08.