Looks like a moth
got painted into this one.
Obelisks lined up
around the block.
The leaning chairs
of willing bodies
becoming the spiritual life
manifest in ferns.

Torn stones that speak
to a low wind.
Shrine that hugs the earth
past a nest of bark
the horizon's chain
of breasts and wombs
ticking solemn fruit's perpetuum
lacquered fist of dust.