Lingering clouds compare.
The breath of birds above my thinning hair.
No more fencing this in unless it flourishes.
No more removal from the water of life.
Let the vines climb me. I'll eat the ivy if I can.
The womb of life has vomited a twisted man.
I let the knots come out in slow uncoiling.
I furrow in the flower's plan.
It's not a plan. The tendrils spouting luminescence
scanned me as I ran, with second sight.
They share not the fear of my errors.
In a cone of long green stems
my terror takes the silence of these threads
and hears it shred.
The voices of the shed are gone,
the fire's out. The mushrooms
in my ribcage then now sprout all around.
Their colors abound and include odor.
I will lie in this clay and walk later.
The grasses synchronize lights.
That's not just fireflies.
It's the remembrance of a lover
who knew my drive was life
before I knew. All thoughts are dew.
The water runs through claws
that turn to baby fingers in a blink.
The blood of my cells can think.
Over stone pastures it sings me
a song. In exile I belong.
No comments:
Post a Comment