Daphne’s Crown

They believe it is about the body, see
victory in leaves and dirt, molted limbs.
Regalia to glorify speed, blood and voice

lost, as they place sap-stained crowns.
They believe this is what the body
gives: weakest limbs lost, twisted,

the mind bound beneath this miracle.
But I have heard poetry, mobius
on mobius, circling that grounded

mind, rooted and reaching: the self-contained
desire of a forest in flight, the mystery
in fear lost, laurelled wilderness of trees.

Aviva Cristy