I came to a clearing

of cinnamon sticks

holding hands

in a row of kindling.

They gave me a bow

and I too was fixed

a part of the crowd

a spindling.

I felt like a flea

amongst the hair shafts

creating a weave

a tingling

on the dogs led to roam

through the cinnamon sticks

holding hands with my heart

souls singing.

The light dappled in

on the shadows it licked

and all there was one

a mingling.

I came to a land

of cinnamon sticks

and left with my heart

a kindling.