History is gone, I am
a dissolved cell.
All I remember is women
and music. I nest in
an inverted pentagram treehouse
in the fog of disintegrated time.
How did I get back in this body,
with nothing to breathe?
When did my love break up
into discarded remnants
on this earth?
I hear Bob Dylan in the distance
say it's not dark yet.
I dive into the void of what I am
and wake up on mud.
These pines erupted soaring
from the blood and alkaline
of fairy hills when all things lived.
The lightning that lit my tree
landed on a gravestone.
The tree that fell landed
on a mailbox. I dipped
my hair in the surface water.
I climb on her brown bones
and I am painted back to life.
