Splinter, by Noah J. Guthrie

An oaken shard,

born from fallen

bough, its current

combs through

white-blond

grain, flowing

over freckles

hued like hazelnut

and deer hide

to split and swirl

in twin paint-strokes

around a black oval,

coiling over and

under, like the storms

of Jupiter’s eye:

a splinter,

a planet, a forest

of dust-mote mushrooms

hovering on

eyelash stalks,

fed on arbor’s

lifeblood—pouring,

roiling, orbiting

without root.