Enter the ascension feed, modern mystical poetry that branches out weekly as reality bends and the muse goes galactic—original poems and translations you can feel, sing, and return to, no footnotes required.
A profusion of green creepers on the winter forest floor
alive in scattered plots like shapes of graves,
how they burst with yellow star-light bowing flowers.
Leafless beech trees shine like Weimaraner hides.
