I fell from a cloud of gnats

into a golden rod patch.

My ephemeral flesh appears

to be pierced in many places.

Stalks extend toward

the curve of the sky

the blood on them is pink,

and not deep red, I must

be almost gone already...

It is good to see the tousled

golden brushes on these

hundred hollow threads

that send me home

to the heart that spawned

this bright magnetic glade

and its teeth alive in dawning shade.