Ferns of hair come through my grave
seed pods of silk erase my bloody eyes
roof shingles slide to land beneath forked pines and pave the earth
enchant the shade's collapse and cup a deer's turd
in the landfill of an underground forest--
scythe's blade whir and whistle behind the swing set--
branches of broken air that eat, mend and extend
while trees outline the groin of a larger forest
hinted in the ice, burnished on the sea of the sun's face
wrinkled by radio waves--stunted stalactites of spiritual life
building wells in the mid-air of a cracked ribcage
where a prism of language re-filters light that has struck it
like a spermy kiss touched by split wood
and the smell of charcoal clothes